Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

Uamat = PHILLIPS Author of ‘Stolen in Transit.” meet YOU should happen to see a P| defendant sneak out of the court- room for a street-car immediately after the jury solemnly retires to decide a murder case... If you should see a man rush after the same car with a barber’s towel under his chin, one side of his face shaved and a collar in his hand... If you should hear desks slamming in office buildings about this time, see bosses bolt suddenly for elevators and office boys for fire-escapes . . There would be but one answer. You would be in Liveburg on a sunny Summer afternoon and it would be nearly time for the ball game to begin at Sportsman’s Park. Liveburg is baseball crazy and its citizenry is composed of a unique assort- ment of rabid fans. There was just such confusion as above described when Robert Jocelyn Jones, pop- ularly known as “‘Jonesy”’, tried to struggle from his bed at Linden Hospital. Miss Powell, the student-nurse at his elbow, gently pressed him back upon his pillow and distress swept across her face. “Lie down, Mr. Jones,”’ she endeavored to say commandingly. ‘You must control yourself if you wish to get well.”’ Jonesy fell back heavily, more from sheer weakness than from the weight of her hands, and turned over on his side with a 72 despairing groan. Through the window he could see the trolley-poles of street-cars on their way to Sportsman’s Park. And for the first time in more than seven years he would miss a game at home. In fact Jonesy had seen not only every rome game in that length of time but he had seen many of the games on the road. He was what you could safely call a wild and woolly fan, one of the wildest and woolliest, in all wild and woolly Liveburg—one of the kind who thinks, talks, eats and sleeps baseball from January to December. He knew the record of every team and player of importance in the country and spent many hours in his room at night mak- ing up freak statistics for the different sporting editors. But now, with the ball park only a block away, he was stretched out on a bed at Linden Hospital, bunged up generally as the result of a chauffeur’s carelessness. ‘“‘Why can’t you move me over by the window so I can see the park?” he asked Miss Powell, hopefully. “It’s against Dr. Hansen’s orders,’ the girl replied, compressing her lips tightly. “Orders? Who’s payin’ for this, Doc Hansen or me?”’ growled the patient. ‘You know it won’t hurt to——” “But that’s what he instructed and that’s what I shall do,”’ said the nurse. Go DOO (©