Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 208: what you’re looking at

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

206 “Oh, no indeed, he wasn’t!” protested Carola, anxious above all things to escape a brawl at her counter. ‘‘He was enti’ely re- spectful, Misteh Kelly!” “Ah, g’wan!” snarled Marty. “‘W’at you givin’ us? D’you t’ink you’re de only guy dat knows how to treat a lady? G’wan away from here if you don’t want your face bent!” His knotty hands were working and he appeared to be overcome with rage. And Kelly’s darkly flushed face and set mouth bespoke a mental disturbance also. But he, unlike Marty, preserved his poise. In fact, he preserved it too elaborately. With a gesture of supreme contempt, he turned half away, so that the spectators should lose nothing of what was to transpire for want of a full view, and, bending his head as he pull- ed the lapel of his coat out with his left hand, flicked with the finger of his right at some dust that had gathered on it, aiming it ostentatiously at Marty. Having done this, he delicately shoved the cuffs of his shirt away from his wrists and shook his shoul- ders, every one understanding perfectly that all this was preparatory to demolishing the enemy. It was very effective and gave the im- pression that he was making leisurely prepa- ration to crush a worm. But the worm was early enough to turn before he was ready. There was a wicked twinkle in Marty’s eyes and he licked his dry lips. Then, as Kelly’s right hand still rested on his left wrist, McGuire’s crooked knuckles de- scribed a vicious circle through the space between his own hip and Kelly’s face. It was a blow worthy of his repute, and something had to yield before it. It smack- ed dully against Abe’s cheek, and the moot- ed episode at New Orleans was avenged. Abe lurched backward, caught utterly off his balance, and, after two or three frantic and sprawling attempts to get his feet back under himself, went backward into the crowd that surrounded them, which, after the manner of crowds, hurriedly faded before his progress and allowed him to fall unimpeded. V MR. DARROW, the handsome day-clerk, and Mr. Crabbe arrived at the scene together. But Abe, [si wonder still covering his face, was on his feet again and about to launch himself at Marty. Adventure Mr. Crabbe seized him in time, while Mr. Darrow did as much for Marty. The latter was squaring off and crouching, his fists working in the air like pistons, and his feet circling around each other in peculiar breaks and swings. He was ducking and feinting at the air, breaking ground and side- stepping and grunting a lurid challenge to Kelly to get up and get another poke in the mush! Mr. Darrow put an end to this exhibition by locking both Marty’s arms from behind and above, pinning them fast to his own sides. As for Mr. Crabbe, he had Kelly by the collar and was so large that it was obviously hopeless for the pugilist to make any further struggle against his fate. But it might have been noticed that surprise was the salient expression on Crabbe’s face and also on that of Young Kelly. They seemed uncertain about their future course of action. Carola had shrunk into a far corner and had her hands over her face. She was too frightened and outraged to do anything at all. Mr. Dinky Burgess might be seen trying to push his way to the front, but no one paid any attention to him. He had arrived just too late to witness the most interesting of the proceedings. Young Kelly was the first to recover his wits. He saved the day for the puzzled Mr. Crabbe by bursting into a storm of ob- jurgations directed at Marty. “You dirty Mick!” he shrieked. “You low-down rough-neck! I licked you once yet a year ago, and I can do it some more. Let me get you in the ring again and get a crack at you! I don’t want no purse nor no fight by ten rounds, you Irish, you! Oi! Let me give you a lick just once! And let me have it a fight to a finish this time!” Marty, strange to relate, seemed to be somewhat terrified by this tirade or by some thought of his own. His attitude was fast losing its appearance of bravado and was getting troubled. Yet he made an at- tempt to hurl back the defiance. “G’wan!” he snarled, but with a slight catch in his voice. ‘‘You never scared no- body but a baby—you Sheeny! Le’me git you where you can’t run out on me and Ill put you on a shutter. Make it a finish fight, you big stiff, and see what I do to you. And dey don’t have to split the poice fer me, neither. Winner take all, suits me.” CoOMmMichoooks (CO