Adventure Magazine Cover — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The King So far, good; that was unofficial, good- natured, human and entirely decent. The three of them burst through the bedroom door, all grins, and took turns pumping with Jeremy’s right arm—glad to see him— proud to know him—pleased to see him looking fit and well, and all that kind of thing. Even men who had fought all through the war had forgotten some of its red tape by that time, and Jeremy not being in uniform they treated him like a fellow human being. And he reciprocated, Aus- tralian fashion, free and easy, throwing up his long legs on my bed and yelling for somebody to bring drinks for the crowd, while they showered questions on him. It wasn’t until Jeremy turned the tables and began to question them that the first cloud showed itself. “Say, old top,” he demanded of a man who wore the crossed swords of a brigadier. “Grim tells me I’m a trooper. When can I get my discharge?” The effect was instantaneous. You would have thought they had touched a leper by the way they drew themselves up and changed face. “Never thought of that. Oh I say—this is a complication. You mean C2 “T mean this,” Jeremy answered dryly, because nobody could have helped notice their change of attitude: “I was made pris- oner by Arabs and carried off. That’s more: than three years ago. The war’s over. Grim tells me all Australians have been sent home and discharged. What about me?” “Um-m-m! Ah! This will have .to be considered. Let’s see; to whom did you surrender?” “you, I didn’t surrender! I met Grim in the desert, and reported to him for duty.” “Met Major Grim, eh?” “Yes,” said Grim, appearing in the door. “T came across him in the desert; he re- ported for duty; I gave him an order, and he obeyed it. Everything’s regular.” “Um-m-m! How’d you make that out regular? Have you any proof he wasn’t a deserter? He'll have to be charged with desertion and tried by court martiai, I’m afraid. Possibly a mere formality, but it’ll have to be done, you know, before he can be given a clear discharge. If he can’t be proved guilty of desertion he’ll be cleared.” ‘= “How long will that take?” Jeremy de-' manded. in Check 7 His voice rang sharp with the challenge note that means debate has ceased and quarrel started. [It isn’t the right note for dissolving difficulties. “Couldn’t tell you,” said the brigadier. “My advice to you is to keep yourself as in- conspicuous as possible until the Adminis- trator gets back.” It was good advice, but Grim, standing behind the brigadier, made signals to Jeremy in vain. Few Australians talk peace when there is no peace, and when there’s a fight in prospect they like to get it over with. “T remember you,” said Jeremy, speaking rather slowly, and throwing in a little catchy laugh that was like a war-cry heard through a microphone. “You were the Fusileer major they lent to the Jordan MHighlanders—fine force that—no advance without security—lost two men, if I remember—snake-bite one; the other shot for looting. Am I right? So they’ve made you a brigadier! Aren’t you the staff officer they sent to strafe a regiment of Anzacs for going into action without orders? We chased you to cover! I can see you now running for fear we’d shoot you! Hah!” Grim took the only course possible in the circumstances. The brigadier’s neck was crimson, and Jeremy had to be saved some- how. “Touch of sun, sir—that and hardship have unhinged him a bit. Suffers from de- lusions. Suppose I keep him here until the doctor sees him?”’ “Um-m-m! Ah! Yes, you’d better. See he gets no whisky, will you. Too bad! Too bad! What a pity!” Our three visitors left in a hurry, con- triving to look devilish important. Grim followed them out. “Rammy, old cock,” said Jeremy, sprawl- ing on the bed again and laughing, “‘don’t look all that serious. Bring back your briga- dier and I’ll kiss him on both cheeks while you hold him! But say; suppose that doc- tor’s one of these swabs who serve out num- ber nine pills for shell-shock, broken leg, dyspepsia, housemaid’s knee and the creep- ing itch? Suppose he swears I’m luny? What then?” “Grim will find somebody to swear to anything once,” I answered. “But you look altogether too dashed healthy—got to give the doctor-man a chance—here, get cCoOnmiclbooks C©