Adventure Magazine Cover — page 184: what you’re looking at

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

940 grass. After that he piled fresh sticks on the blaze. ‘“‘Now I’ve got ter find some hoosier ter look after dis guinea,” soliloquized the un- willing custodian. ‘“‘Gee, but it’s to be soft-hearted!’’ He paused and felt through his coat the thick wad of bills in his pocket. ‘“An’ say, Rat, me son,” he added with deep sorrow, “wid a bun like dat yer could beat it ter de North Pole, too!”’ Mr. Connors struck off at random into the night, singing mournfully as he went: “Jay Gould’s daughter, afore she died, Done signed a paper so de bums can’t ride.” CHAPTER VI MR. BURROW SUGGESTS A REMEDY HE Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow had been something like two hours in Jaffa Junction. Two hours in Jaffa Junction is more than sufficient for any man. For the Hon. Alexander the night held noth- ing save the melancholy prospect of seeing a friend abandon himself to the emotional insanity of marriage. For marriage Mr. Burrow had no tolerance. For women he had a supreme contempt. When the train which should have borne his friend whisked through and brought no Copewell, the best man became testy. Mr. Burrow reflected that this develop- ment left him to take charge of an un- claimed lady, whom he did not want. He found the idea disconcerting. Decidedly he must devise some escape. Then an inspira- tional idea dawned. He would rush up to her Pullman when it arrived. He would shout warningly, “On your way! Your lunatic didn’t come!”” That ought to solve the situation very nicely. First, though, he would call up Mercerville and find out what had happened. Calling up Mercerville from Jaffa Junc- tion proved an undertaking of such magni- tude that Mr. Burrow’s grouch ripened slowly into misanthropy before it was ac- complished. The telephone exchange, in- stead of being central in location, seemed to have been placed on the principle ofan eruptive hospital in far-away isolation. When at last he got Copewell’s lodgings it was to learn that Copewell had left on the west-bound express. As the Honorable Mr. Burrow came down the stairs of the telephone exchange the Adventure shriek of a train whistle smote discordantly on his ears. The motor proved balky and required a singular amount of cranking. The cranking required a superlative amount of profanity. Altogether the series of petty annoyances spelled delay. The station was quite a distance away and Mr. Burrow pro- ceeded to desecrate the speed-limit, rehears- ing as he went, “On your way, young woman! He didn’t come!”’ And Miss Asheton, alighting on the sta- tion platform, was startled to find it empty. She had expected it to be filled with the welcoming presence of Mr. Copewell. Her alarm was at once dissipated, how- ever, by the glare of acetylene headlights whirling around the curve of the road some distance away. The mad speed of the approaching car indicated that it was her own private reception-committee. She set down her suit-case and waited. ‘Captain’? McDonald also saw the auto- mobile headlights. He knew that automo- biles were not indigenous to Jaffa Junction. This one could mean only that Miss Ashe- ton was being properly and enthusiastically met. A moment later the best man alighted at the station and looked regretfully after the train. He had been too late. Mr. Burrow had not considered the possible effect on Miss Asheton of his contemplated bluntness. It had not mattered. Mr. Burrow had the military mind. The military mind can not pause to consider the feelings of the enemy. Decimation is painful to an army but desir- able to the attacking general. The military mind sees and pursues one object. Mr. Burrow’s one object was to rid himself of a superfluous young female. It was the same thing that makes some warriors slay prisoners rather than be burdened with them on the march. For an appreciable space of time the Hon. Alexander Hamilton Burrow eyed Miss Asheton with icy politeness. She looked back at him inquiringly. There was nothing ardent in the tableau. “‘T take it you are the bride-elect?”’ haz- arded the Hon. Alexander. ““Yes.”” The man had no idea the mono- syllable could be so short. Her voice was so musical that it was altogether too short. ‘“T’m A. H. Burrow. I’m the best man.” ‘Yes, but where is Lewis?’’ Miss Ashe- ton put the question with a pardonable CoOMmiclhooks (©