Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

h Seven Fools chuckled heavily, but did not even turn their heads. One was a big sailor. with the smack of the seas in his talk and looks. He was Jack, and everybody was Jack to him. He had said earlier that he had come for a day or two from his ship to see the crowds. The fourth player was an excessively fat man who called himself Casey Jones, and frequently referred to himself in a facetious way as the brave engineer—on some Oregon jerkwater line. His talk was of flying switches, hittin’ the frogs at sixty per, and the like. A mumbling, rumbling going-on meant to be good humor but that was in fact a kind of madness, a fearfulness. He had a pack, which he kept under the table between his feet. ‘The seafaring man kept bumping his feet against it and grumbling at the annoyance. One of the three spectators was the little bookstore man, with his finger still in the volume, “‘How To Camp Out.” Another was a man of about thirty-five or forty, who wore a sort of unchangable smile, and who was registered as J. W. Cotton. “T certainly don’t care for this type of men,’ he whispered once or twice to old Sinehour, nodding to the players. The third onlooker was Fags, who smoked, lighting one cigaret from another. He was just barely old enough to have served with the Canadian forces at Vimy ridge, though American born. Before the Smart Aleck had been present five minutes the sailor’s patience with the pack beneath the table gave out. “Hey, Jack,” he rumbled impatiently, “why don’t you stow. that ditty bag below decks som’ers?”’ And to emphasize his impatience he swiped out with a leg and scooted the kit to one side. Casey Jones literally tumbled down upon it, as a football player springs down upon the oval leather. He got up panting, his face sweaty and white. He dandled the pack on his knees. ‘““You—you!” he snarled raggedly at the sailor. ‘‘You ought to be blackballed!’’ The others watched him with a touch of contempt at such an exhibition. Morton- Dyer spoke out curtly: “What you afraid of? You must ’a’ tapped the paymaster on the coco—after you was blackballed.”’ “Sandwiches in that pack,” feebly coun- tered Casey Jones. To turn the subject the kindly little night pn : ; = 2 c clerk stuck out his cigarets to the players. Jack took a chew of plug, but others accepted. Casey Jones lighted on a match, then Morton-Dyer, and Fags was about to be the third when the sailor interfered. ‘“‘What the dancin’ ho-rizon!”” He struck out the match. “Third a-lightin’ off the same match! Not when I’m around.” ‘Superstition,’ sneered Logical Jones. “Tllogical.”’ ‘Come on, come on, brothers, let’s gam- bolier,”’ sang out Morton-Dyer impatiently. ‘Superstition nothing,’ began Jack de- fensively. “Sift out the pasteboards,”’ cried the fat engineer in his high restlessness. ‘‘Gimme a chance to even up.” The dealer seemed to do just that thing then, for Casey Jones took the lead in the playing, and when it came to the betting he shoved in all his chips and said, ‘“Tap you!” to Morton-Dyer. Smart Aleck chose this moment to play his part, as if the tense silence were his cue. He went thumping around the table and sat down between old Sinehour and Cotton. ““T’m the man,” he said to Cotton, ‘‘that climbed the peak today and won a hundred dollars.” Cotton gave a quick look around and made a movement of withdrawal. ‘““You’re a nut,” he said. Sinehour smiled faintly at the fire guard, out of the kindness of his heart not wishing to be short. : “Beat it!’ snarled Morton-Dyer. Smart Aleck rose up on his dignity. “To with you!” he flung at them, and tramped out. He strode obliquely across the street toward his shack. “Fools! City fools!’ he damned. ‘Don’t know nothing and don’t want to learn!” . The thought came that, gosh, he’d like to show ’em up. Such men ought to be learned respect. That dude bootlegger, and that society-looking bird. A shot through the window, or an avalanche turned loose, or He sat on his porch to smoke, and as the cigaret ashed and glowed, and ashed and glowed, he pondered them with an eye to even things. Then abruptly he sat up. “By gosh, I’ll doit! I’llmake ’em feel like two cents. Show ’em up! If it works.” He strode across the street and across the yard, to the side door, a few feet from the Gomichooks 159 reo)