Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

ANOTHER minute found Huntley in Marian’s room. When she saw . him, Marian smiled and pointed to a chair. “Draw it up, Peter,” sit down.” Peter did so. He bent toward her. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk, Marian.” “T’ve got to, Peter. A little. Now tell me about yourself. Tell me what you did in those five years.” | “First,”’ Huntley began, “I tried to make a business man of myself. But I couldn’t do it. It made me fidgety to sit still all the time. Then I went in for electricity. I am now a very capable electrical engineer. Are you—”’ he glanced toward the nurse, and whispered this—‘“‘very much disappointed?” Marian smiled. “Oh, no, Peter. Listen: you can get a position here, maybe. You see, we're putting in a dam and power-plant four miles up the river. It’s to be municipally owned and controlled. The city floated a hundred thousand in bonds for it. Father’s at the head of it; he’s mayor of Westover again. See father, get the place, and—” in a whisper—“try to make him like you well enough to give us his permission— I’m tired, Peter—I’ll have to let you go. The nurse isn’t looking, Peter Huntley kissed her slyly, bade her good- by, and hurried back to the library. Old Urhart seemed displeased at the length of his stay. “Vour daughter,” Peter explained, ‘‘was telling me about the new dam and power- plant.” Westover’s Big Boss brightened at once. “It’s going to make money for us, Hunt- ley. You see, we’re going to furnish juice to two other towns besides this. Every- thing is nearly ready now. By the time we can locate a good engineer to take charge of the plan ss “Ym your man,” Huntley interrupted; he couldn’t help it. “I’m a first-class electrical engineer, if I do say it myself. And I'll work for you and old Westover just a little cheaper than I’d work for anybody else.” For a moment Urhart seemed at a loss to know what to say. At last he blurted: “You'll have to see Alden, Huntley. He’s the contractor, and he is to find the electrician. You remember Farnsworth Alden, of course?” Yl she invited, ‘‘and Adventure At the mention of the name, the younger man’s face clouded. Certainly, he remem- bered Farnsworth Alden, contractor. Alden had been one of the chief men of that ring that had robbed his good old father to the very bone of him—it had been done mostly within the law, but to the bone just the same. Huntley controlled his feelings as well as he could, and told Judge Urhart good-by for the time being. He was undecided as to just what he was going todo. He believed that Marian’s father would see that he did not get the position he wanted, simply because he was Peter Huntley. Moreover, he very heartily disliked having to ask a job of a man whom he detested as he detested Farnsworth Alden. The Huntleys had a high old pride in them, and Peter had as much of it as any of the rest. He went back to the inn, changed his clothes, and shortly afterward boarded a train for a neighboring town to visit his parents. He found his father running a little grocery store almost at a loss because of the big heart he had in him. When the evening meal was over, the three of them, father and mother and son, gathered in the sitting-room. Though it was in June, the evening had fallen with a chill, which was due to a recent rain, and there was a fire in the grate. Huntley lay back in his armchair and stared silently and thoughtfully into the glowing coals. His wife sat beside him; and on the floor at her feet sat Peter, who to her was a far greater person than a mere king. “T wish you’d tell me, dad,” Peter said suddenly, ‘“‘exactly how Westover fleeced you. Id like to know all about—the details, you know.” “Yd much rather not go over it, Peter,” was the quick reply. Almost immediately afterward, John Huntley made an excuse to leave the room. When the door had closed behind him, Mrs. Huntley bent forward and put a tender hand on Peter’s dark-brown head. “You touched a sore spot when you mentioned that, son,” said she. ‘‘He can’t bear to even think about it. And if I were not your mother, you probably wouldn’t believe me when I tell you the reason: It’s his great disappointment in humanity, Peter. He went to Westover a gentleman, CORNICL@OO S Old John. (C@