Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

160 tried to shout his warning through the little window. The jailer threatened to gag him if he didn’t close his mouth of his own accord. “All right,” agreed Peter. “But first let me say this: if there is such a thing as reincarnation, you’re the same damned scoundrel that stuck the spear into the side of the Man they crucified.” The keeper of the keys laughed and went off whistling. Peter began to pace the dank floor. He kept himself from thinking of being drowned there in his cell by think- ing of his Marian. How he hoped that she would escape the devastating flood wall that he knew had to come! Night fell thick. The street electrics made only dim white circles in the misty darkness. Two hours, and something failed at the power-plant—and Westover with its scores of cases of typhoid was plunged into impenetrable, Stygian blackness. JUDGE URHART tried to sit up in the smothering night, and found that he was tooweak. He lay back on his pillow, waited and listened impa- tiently. A few minutes later he heard his daughter’s soft footsteps in the near-by hallway. She came slowly, groping, feel- ing her way with her hands. “What did the engineer say?” he wanted to know. “The telephone worked badly at first, and I didn’t get it all,’”’ said Marian, halting beside his bed. ‘“There’s something wrong with—the generators, I believe he said. Maybe the lights will come on soon. I hope so, for this is terrible! I wish Peter Hunt- ley were in charge up there, father. It’sa shame that Mr. Alden wouldn’t give him the position.” “T’ve already heard too much of Peter Huntley,” weakly declared the mayor of Westover. “Tf only we knew where to find him!’ the girl continued. ‘“‘Do you suppose his parents in Faidleysville would know? Did he—are you sure he didn’t say where he was going when he left?”’ ‘“T—er, I don’t believe he did.” The old ex-judge was too sick to lie outright very easily. The night wore on, and the typhoid sufferers suffered on in the blackness. The coming of eleven o’clock found half the women in Westover hysterical. By mid- Adventure night the hearts of some very strong men were being harassed by that unrelenting darkness. Farnsworth Alden had been kept busy answering telephone calls for hours. Now he knew that something had to be done, and that done quickly, to get the generators to working again; the stricken town had to have light. He thought of asking Peter Huntley’s aid, but he doubted seriously that Huntley would turn over a hand for him. In his dilemma, he decided to go to the resourceful Judge Urhart for advice. Marian met him at the door. “Tt’s Alden,” he said shakily. “I’ve got to talk with your father. Please take me to him—and let me hold to your arm, Marian; I stumble badly in this darkness.” He had been drinking in an attempt to settle his nerves. “You mustn’t worry him, remember,” warned the girl. She led him to her father’s bedroom. When they were inside the door, Alden announced himself, then he requested that Marian leave him with her father for a few minutes. Marian pretended to withdraw—and didn’t. ‘“‘Well?” said Urhart, impatiently. “Do you think you could get Huntley to go to the power-plant?” began Alden. “Maybe he could give us light. We’ve got to have light.” “After your treatment of him,’’ Urhart said sourly, “he wouldn’t go. This is a sort of unholy vengeance for him. You mustn’t forget that he’s been lying there in jail for some two months nursing a griev- ance.” “You sanctioned it,’? Alden replied half angrily. ‘“‘You were as deep in the graft scheme as anybody else.” Marian’s two hands clutched her dress at her throat. Peter in jail for two months! A graft scheme! In the twinkling of an eye, her intuition told her almost the whole story. She knew about the ruining of Peter’s father; she might not have known just how it had been brought about, but, all the same, she knew. “Mr. Alden,’’ came her troubled voice from the doorway, “please stay here with father until the nurse wakes—she’s worn out. Peter Huntley will go to the dam for me, I know.” Without waiting for a reply, without CORnnICLOOKS (C@)