Adventure Magazine Cover — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

42 . “Golly!” exclaimed Jeremy. “Your trade wouldn’t suit me, Jim! When doing tricks, it’s good to watch folks’ eyes pop open. What tickles my wish-bone is what I can see for myself on their silly faces, half of ’em trving to look as if they know how it’s done and the other half all grins. I did tricks for a Scotchman once who got so angry I thought he’d hit me; he said what I did was impossible, so I did it again and he still said it was impossible, and he ended by calling me a “puir dementit mon.” That was my apogee; I’ve never reached that height since, not even when I first made a camel say prayers at Abu Kem and the Arabs hailed me as a prophet! Bread’s good, but it’s better with the butter on it right side up!” “Not in this game, it isn’t,’’ answered Grim. “If your beard seems smeared with butter that’s a sure sign it’s dangerous. For God’s sake, as long as you stay in the game with me don’t play to the gallery, either of you! Let’s order breakfast.” It was the longest lecture and expression of opinion I had ever listened to from James Schuyler Grim, and though I’ve turned it over in my mind a great deal since, I can’t discover anything but widsom in it. I be- lieve he told Jeremy and me the secret of power that morning. CHAPTER XI “They are all right!” HERE was no competition for seats on the Damascus train that morning. Several of the window-panes were smashed, there were bullet-marks and splinters on the woodwork everywhere—no need to ask questions. But I found time on the plat- form to chat with some British officers while keeping an eye lifting for Yussuf Dakmar and his friends. “Damascus, eh? You'll have a fine jour- ney if you get through alive. Nine passen- gers were shot dead in the last train down.” “No law up there, you know. Feisul’s army’s all concentrated for a crack at the French (good luck to ’em! No, I’m not wishing the French any particular luck this trip.) Nobody to watch the Bedouins, so they take pot shots at every train that passes, just for the fun of it.” ‘May be war, you know, at any minute. The French are sure to make a drive for the railway line—you’ll be hung up indefinitely \ Adventure —commandeered for an ambulance train— shot for the sake of argument—anything at all, infact. They say those Algerian troops are getting out of hand—paid in depreciated francs and up against the high cost of de- bauchery. You’re taking a chance.” “Wish I could go! Haven’t seen a healthy scrap since Zeitun Ridge. Hey! Hullo! What’s this? Lovely woman! Well I'll be Y? It was Mabel Ticknor, followed by the six men.I was watching for, Yussuf Dakmar looking sulky and discouraged in their midst, almost like a prisoner, and the other five wearing palpably innocent expressions. ‘‘Lord!” remarked the officer nearest me, “that gang’s got the wind up! Look at the color of their gills! Booked through, I’ll bet you, and been listening to tales all night!” The gang drew abreast just as another officer gave tongue to his opinion. They couldn’t help hearing what he said; he had one of those voices that can carry on conversation in a boiler-foundry. “*There’s more in this than meets the eyel She’s not a nurse. She don’t walk like a missionary. I heard her buy a ticket for Aleppo. Can you imagine a lone, good- looking woman going to Aleppo by that train unless she had a laissez passer from the French? She’s wearing French heels. Ill bet she’s carrying secret information. Look! D’you see those two Arabs in the train?’ He pointed out Grim and Jeremy, who were leaning from a window. ‘‘They tipped her off to get into the compartment next ahead of them. D’yousee? There she goes. She was for getting into the coach ahead. They called her back.” Almost all the other cars were empty except that one, but, whether because humans are like sheep and herd together instinctively when afraid, or because the train crew ordered it, all six compartments of the middle first class car were now occu- pied, with Mabel Ticknor alone in the front one. Nevertheless, Yussuf Dakmar and four of his companions started to climb in by the rear door. The sixth man lingered within earshot of the officers, presumably to pick up further suggestions. So I got in at the front end and met them half-way down the corridor. “Plenty of room in the car behind,” I said abruptly. They were five to one, but Yussuf Dak- mar was in front, and he merely got in the COnmiclbooks (C@