Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 196: what you’re looking at

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

194 to one cheek and a puffiness of lip apparent, which told that some of the blows of his opponent had gone home, but his comely features were otherwise not at all marred. His dark, clean-cut face was as attractive as ever and his curly hair framed it as jaun- tily as though he had not recently battled for ten rounds against a foe reputed for- midable. Now, at ease and clothed in the latest mode of the ‘‘House of Fineheimer,’’ he lolled nonchalantly on the end of his up- turned suit-case and watched the door with beady, glittering eyes that were cunningly in keeping with his shrewd type of face. There was no man of business to help him, for Kelly had no use for a manager, as more than one promoter had found to his cost. He conducted his own business affairs and, in addition, managed those of several other fighters of more or less note. Therefore, the only other occupant of the room was a young man of Fort Jones who had enlisted with him as a second, im- pelled thereto by his particular sort of hero worship. Dinky Burgess, the silent partner of the trio that made up the Fort Jones Athletic Association, and who was generally sus- pected of supplying the money necessary to its activities, opened the door and came into the room, disseminating an atmosphere of gloom as he carefully closed_it behind him. The cunning eyes of Young Kelly twin- kled up and down over his broad back and rested for a moment on the folds of flesh, sparsely sprinkled with stubbly hair, at the back of his neck. They were much like the eyes of a weasel at that moment, but an in- stant later, when the promoter turned lan- guidly, they had become as bland and guile- less as such sharp and close-set orbs could be. YOUNG KELLY smiled cherubic- ally upon the burly promoter. His manner was that of one who trusts whole-heartedly, like a child who has never experienced deception. “Well,” he remarked cheerfully, “I’m all ready for the handout, Dinky.” Burgess mopped his shining forehead and sighed. A trace of discomfort remained about him. “Now, honest, Abe,” he complained, “this ain’t no sort of hole for a square guy to get into! But you know me, Abey. Adventure When I tell you that it ain’t any of my doin’, so help me Mike, you’re goin’ to be- lieve me—see! Ten year, off’n’ on, I been followin’ this game, and there ain’t no such thing ever happened before, believe me. If I’d ’a’ knowed them guys was that kind .of sport, I wouldn’t ’a’ never gone near to ’em without I had my money pocket pad- locked!” Abe’s face fell ingenuously. ‘“‘Aw, say now, Dinky!” he whined. ‘“‘You ain’t goin’ to welch on the guarantee, are you” . Mournful protest was in every note of Dinky’s voice. ‘““Me welch on you, Abey! You know I wouldn’t do that to no one. But listen now, Kid. It ain’t me that is doin’ this! I reckon you know that it’s them fellows, Bill Jenks and Otto Switzer, runnin’ out on me and leavin’ me to hold the sack. ‘““You seen the crowd, yourself, Abey, and you know that, what with all the dead- heads them fellows let in, there wasn’t fifty solid iron men in the house. It appears like fights between welters don’t draw no kind of crowds, nohow. If you was a light- weight or a middle, we could ha’ raised a mob that would ha’ let us out all right, but at a hundred and forty-five pounds you can’t get no real money past the door.” ‘But I ain’t got anything to do with that, Dinky,’”’ complained the pugilist. “I was guaranteed five hundred—win, lose or draw—with privilege of a percentage. I don’t want the percentage, but where’s my five centuries?” The burly promoter, with a sigh that would have drawn sympathy from a stone, drew his wallet from his pocket and ab- stracted a bundle of bills from it. “‘T put up all the money for this racket,” he mourned, “‘and first and last, it’s cost me quite a little something. I know you was guaranteed, Abey, but I didn’t sign the con- tract, noways. Now, Jenks and Switzer have pulled their freight with everything in the treasury except the night’s gate. They didn’t wait for that when they saw the mob. They took all of mine there was left, too. I ain’t really liable for this, at all, Abey, but I’m a square man and I’m going to hand you out every jitney we’ve taken in to- night.” He counted out fifty-two dollars in bills and dived into his trousers pocket for a handful of small change. Of this he carefully CoOMmichoooks (CO