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

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

804 The “strong arm” pulled a small wad of bills deliberately out of his pocket. “I don’t have to work any more,” he said de- murely. ‘‘I’m goin’ to chase trouble and start up a Dago bank with this.” ' Burns fished in his trousers pocket and brought up some loose bills. ‘Oh, I ain’t so lonesome!”’ he said, counting it over. “‘Seven whole ones to the better myself.” “Tell yer what I'll do, Reddy,” proposed Spider magnanimously. ‘‘You turn the trick and I’ll give yer two-thirds the rake 9) The red-headed man turned a scornful, pitying gaze on the object of such sublime self-sacrifice. ““Why, yer little monkey-face,”’ he scoffed, “‘did yer think I’d go up against that game fer halves? If I put it over, it’ll be three- quarters for mine, and m “T’ll stand for it, Reddy,” Spider broke in anxiously. “It’s like findin’ it at that. But [ll stand for it.” “‘And how d’ye think I’m goin’ to drag a tin typewriter through the streets? I ain’t a horse!” growled the other. “We'll hire Johnson’s express wagon,” replied the resourceful Ferret. ‘‘He can take the goods over to my room. Sure, Reddy. That’s easy.” Burns lit a cigarette and, inhaling deeply, blew a cloud of smoke thoughtfully over his head. Big Pete sat silently listening, a bored look on his dark, heavy face. “You two crimps leak gas enough over it to cop a street-car,” he remarked wearily. “‘T’ll buy yer some courage.’ He rose, and tapped lightly on a “speak-easy” in the partition. It was opened by a thick-set, bullet-headed bartender. “Set the table, Dan,”’ he ordered. it three long suds.” Reddy Burns glanced sourly at Spider. “It don’t look like any candy graft to me,” he said glumly. ‘‘It’s second-hand typewriters for the dump. But I'll tell yer what I’ll do, Ferret,” he proposed in a surly tone, ‘I’ll make a play to cop it off for eight bucks out of ten in the rake off, d’ye under- stand? The guy may be dead easy, all right,” he added skeptically, “‘but if he don’t fall for the spiel, it’s me that’s the Jeremiah, and that’s no laugh. So you can take it or pass it up. I don’t care.” “T’ll take it,” answered Spider promptly. “I won’t grouch if I can pinch a few out of it.” He screwed his face up till it resembled “Make Adventure a wounded baboon’s. ‘‘I’m sore on that glug anyway, Iam. He’s a fresh Mike and tried to kid me, and I’d like to jab it into him good and plenty!” he added spite- fully. “You'll see what a big, pink-gilled stuff he is. He leaks hot air out of both ears.” THEY drank their beer hastily and ne a rose from the table. Big Pete an- SSS nounced his intention of awaiting thelr return, and was directed to meet them at the F erree room in an hour’s time. The latter, leaving Burns on the curb outside the _ saloon, stepped over to the corner and, later, a gray, moth-eaten steed, pulling a ram- shackle express wagon with a shirt-sleeved negro on the box, rattled down a side street and headed for University Place with in- structions to wait there for orders. Reddy and the Ferret followed, hugging the build- ings closely, with searching eyes out for plain-clothes men. As they brisked along, Spider kept up an unceasing chatter of comment and advice. ‘All yer have to do, Reddy,” he explained volubly as they hurried along Thirteenth Street, “is to pass him up the paper. He’s wise to it you’re comin’, all right, and he’ll give up easy. And just as I tell yer, he’s a big, bossy slob. He looks somethin’ like Galligan’s bartender, Mick Dolan, crossed by one of them fat settlement workers. He’s a strong hand-shaker, too, and you'll see he’ll try and throw a kid into yer if he can— he handed me a balloonful of hot air about Spaniards and chickens. He’s a sweet- winded guy for fair and he’ll talk yer dippy if yer give him half a look-in. But the type- writer’s a peach all right and it’ll be the easiest graft you ever pulled. I ain’t grouchin’, though—I’m willin’ to give yer the fat end of it, Reddy. Only,” Spider frowned darkly, ‘‘when yer get next that stiff,'I hope you'll jab the gaff into him about nine inches and turn it round twice! Yes, Ido. He got my goat, that gink did!” - ‘Aw, cut it out!’ snapped Reddy sourly. ‘What do I care what he is? If I can cop the goods he can talk till he chokes!” , They reached University Place and, stepping into a doorway, stood for a mo- ment exchanging the last few necessary words. Across the street Johnson’s express wagon could be pulled up beside the curb, waiting. Spider gave the negro a short nod of recognition and out of the corner of his Comicbook C©