Adventure Magazine Cover — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

808 “Kid nothin’!”? was the scornful re- joinder. “He didn’t get gay with me! But he didn’t do a thing but kid you and chew the rag about what a slick guy he thought you was. He kept it up till it made me sick. I’m tellin’ yer,” he added decisively, ‘‘it’s some Stall all right, all right! And you'll come across with them five bucks yer con man mopped me for, too, monkey-face!”’ he continued malevolently, as he turned the corner of First Avenue. ‘“D’ye under- stand?” Spider’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully, but he made no answer. Crossing the street hurriedly, they made for the express wagon pulled up at the corner, and, surveying the Avenue up and down suspiciously, Spider lifted the typewriter gingerly to the ground and they scuttled down the block to the security of the Ferret’s room. A sense of grim satisfaction possessed Reddy’s soul as he watched the swinging, bumping machine collide painfully with the meager under- pinning of his fcllow craftsman and in his heart he profoundly hoped each encounter left a satisfactory dent. Big Pete stood near the narrow, unsavory doorway of Spider’s grimy habitation, patiently waiting, and as they swung into the dark entry and hurried up the dirty stairs his burly figure closed up the dismal passage behind them like a pro- tect’ng rear-guard. THEY entered the room on tip-toe “Siva and securely locked thedoor. Spider kicked two wooden chairs together a deposited the typewriter on them with solicitous care. Reddy Burns, scowling at the object of his recent humiliation, stood waiting the dénouement, and Big Pete’s eyes lighted with curiosity as the Fer- ret’s hand clutched the handle of the tin cover. But just as he was about to raise it, some- thing stirred in the outer entry—a soft step it sounded, very faint and scarcely percepti- ble. Three pairs of terror-stricken eyes focussed on the door, then turned upon each other in tight-lipped, questioning fear. Then were heard four gentle, regular taps on the panel, followed after a short interval by four more—each light, though distinctly insistent. The three held their breath, eying each other frozenly. Then a low, guttural voice, plainly assumed, growled in a com- manding tone to be admitted. Big Pete gave a nervous laugh of relief Adventure and, advancing to the door, boldly flung it open. A tall, spare man, smoothly shaven, with keen intellectual eyes and a humorous expression playing about the corners of his mouth, crossed the threshold. Sweeping the room with one quick, comprehensive glance, his eyes fixed quizzically on Spider. “Why, hello, Algy-non!”’ he cried jocu- larly. ‘‘How’s tricks?’”? And _ serenely ignoring the chorus of profane expostulation over the scare he had given them, the ‘“‘Prince”’ moved over to the machine and grasped the handle of the cover. ‘Gettin’ busy in the typewriter business, Ferret?”’ he inquired dryly, drawing off the tin hood. “Or,” his face suddenly changed and he burst into a satirical chuckle, ‘‘or is it just old junk you’re pinchin’ now?” A dismayed group quickly surrounded the typewriter and gazed in open-mouthed wonder. Seven keys alone stood intact on the ill-fated machine, as if to proclaim a happier past, but the carriage was gone, the type-bars twisted and broken, and one side of the iron frame was completely torn away. In fact and in appearance, it was a total and picturesque wreck, fit only to ornament the top of a scrap-pile. Spider stood staring at it in dumb amazement. Reddy Burns exploded with a sudden oath and stepped back with glaring eyes, his fists clenched. “There, yer little pin-head!’’ he cried savagely. ‘‘Didn’t I tell yer? The guy was a soft mark, hey? Aw, say! you and yer book cinch ” he thrust out an ugly jaw and stepped toward the Ferret menacingly. Spider faced him accusingly. “Yer pinched the wrong one, I tell yer!” he ex- claimed excitedly. ‘‘The guy worked yer, Reddy! Sure, he did! It was the other one you ought’r got! It was a peach!” Burns glowered, speechless with rage. He raised a threatening fist, but the Prince stepped between them. Big Pete dropped on to a chair and laughed uproariously. The Prince chuckled, eying Spider with a mystified expression. ‘‘ You’re a dead-sure ringer for a captain of industry, [erret,”’ he observed dryly. ‘Tor sake, what’d yer bump up against, anyway?” “T tell yer Reddy pinched the wrong one off’n him!” shouted Spider injuredly. ‘He’s a bloke over on Fourteenth Street—a fat, pink-headed gink named Smart from some place called Sunshine out West. He The Prince suddenly flopped to a chair and broke into a paroxysm of laughter. CO MICLOOKS (©