Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

Tales of the Hot Dog Tavern 79 “For I am just the sort of guy : To watch the ships and sit and sigh And dream about the course they take Acrost the ocean foam— And never, never make the break But just stay homel’’ “Funny,” the sailor said; ‘each man on earth Is envying the other fellow’s berth, An’ wishin’ it was his’n—listen, bo, You stay at home an’ watch yer children grow; You got it over me. Let’s have a drink. I might as well be spending all my chink, Because tonight I’ve got to take a ship For Borneo—and that’s some little trip.” They drank—and then the sailor, smiling, left. The other simply sat like one bereft Of thought of here and now—and muttered low: “‘To Borneo—Dear Lord!—To Borneo!” At length he rose and slowly shuffled out; es His eyes were misty—from the smoke, no doubt. And so he went his way. But fairly soon A new gang blithely entered the saloon, — A stalwart bunch whose coming somehow threw A pall of silence on the ship-yard crew. For roundabout these fresh accessions clung A rich aroma: ’twas a scent which flung Upon the tavern’s heavy, smoky air An extra burden, difficult to bear; And as about the bar.they congregated. The other group, decamped, evaporated. Hands to their faces as they sought the street In hasty and disorderly retreat. Old Joseph in his corner started peeling An onion as he felt that fragrance stealing Upon his nostrils from that stalwart crowd; While Bill the Barkeep, pale, but still endowed With courtesy (although he held his nose) Requested them their wishes to disclose Regarding drinks, and served them, nonetheless, Despite his great olfactory distress. They drank, then one, with grimed but pleasant face, Noting the old piano, took his place. Upon the stool, and hammering the keys’ Began to sing; his lyric lines were these: “The rose has a scent of its own; The violet’s fragrant as well, And every old flower that’s known Has one individual smell; Now we are not flowers at all, But we've a bouquet anyhow. The delicate smell that Permits you to tell that ° We work on a garbage scowl COmiclbooks.Gom