Adventure, August 1917 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

80 Donnelly, once more extending the pen to Barnes. The superintendent and the other two officials looked from the paper to Donnelly, surprised, protesting. However they read only firmness and determination in his face. “If you please,” insisted Donnelly, again indicating the paper and the pen. So fhe superintendent, plainly disturbed and unwilling, yet with no visible alterna- tive left, wrote: Accepted. J. G. BARNES. And when the superintendent had finished, Joe Donnelly once more entered the date and the time, 12.38 A.M. Then he folded the paper and quickly got to his feet. His record was clear. aus “Tt EXPECT you have nothing singe iurther?” he said. His eyes ques- tioned them. And as they said nothing he walked to the door. Something like understanding and ad- miration shone in the eyes of the general manager and the president as they regarded that tattered, torn figure. ‘They were wise men, and prudent. Adventure “I’m sorry that you see it that way,” said Banninger, simply, as Donnelly opened the door, “‘but of course you know best. And thank you.” He held out his hand again. But Barnes was neither so wise nor pru- dent. He foresaw another session of un- pleasant explanations ahead, and he made a final desperate effort. ‘‘You better reconsider your resignation, Donnelly—better think it over,” he said, magnanimously. He waited a second, and then, to make it more impressive, added: : “You’re about all in. Ride down with us and we'll drop you off at the station.” And immediately after he had spoken the superintendent wished he had held his tongue. For Donnelly turned and smiled at the superintendent, an _ inscrutable, gently reproving smile such as one might use upon a persistent, blundering child, a smile that made Barnes squirm and that made his face color a fiery red. “No,” said Joe Donnelly, mildly. T’ll walk.” And he opened the shining brass gate and swung to the ground. “No TOW-BOATING by IRA SOUTH EEP-WATERMEN are right enough. It’s fine to see ’em warping in; They drop down on our tow-boat decks With tobacco and Jamaica gin. And as we tow them ’cross the bar, The long brave parting whistles blow, And outside seas break on our decks. I always fairly ache to go. But round the harbor on a tug, Though not a great, inspiring sight, It’s stick along the shore for me: I see my wife and kids at night. CoOmiclsoo C© S}