Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 93: 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 “Old Bill Riddle can’t play the fiddle, Can't play piano but he sure 1s keen 1 When he starts to playin’, body all a-swaywmn’, Coaxin’ out the music from his accordeen! : Makes you sorta prickle, gives your feet a tickle; Will you love to listen, oh, PU say you willl Come around an’ hear him! Say, when you are near him gl You'll be buch-an’-wingin’, cause you can’t keep still! ures “Can’t keep still! Can’t keep still; Sets your heart to thumpin’,; gies yer spine a thrill; Makes you wanta shimmy with your litile queen When Bill plays on the accordeen! Feet git restless—tap-tap-tap— Can’t keep quiet, don’t you care a rap, For you can’t keep, can’t keep, can’t keep still, Never could resist it an’ you never will. Starts the crowd a hoppinw’ like a jumpin’-bean . When Bill plays on the accordeen. “With no warnin’, on a Sunday mornin’ Minister was preachin’ mm a voice serene; All the congregation hears a syncopation; Bill is passin’ with his accordeen. Preacher’s feet is itchin’ ; congregation tuiichin’ ; Then the parson leads ’em an’ they follers Bul; Ain’it no use delayin’ when he starts to playin’ Gotta follow after for you can’t keep still’ They made him play and sing that tune again And then some more, and all that crowd of men Like children to a hurdy-gurdy pranced, Whooped in their joy, and danced and danced and danced, Chasséd and balanced, jigged and whirled about, Till they and Bill were totally worn out. The crowd began to thin; the joyous riot Dwindled to conversation low and quiet; Men sipped their beer and talked of this and that; Bill wiped his bar. The sleek and portly cat, No longer hiding, now the noise had died, Came out and walked about with seemly pride; Thus midnight came. Bill dimmed a light or two; Michael the Swamper shuffled into view, Woke up two sleepers drowsing at a table And pointed to the clock. The busy babel Of voices in the tavern was diminished; In groups and pairs the various patrons finished Their final drink and drifted out the door. Michael the Swamper dourly swept the floor While Bill washed up his glasses, wiped the bar And dimmed more lights. Old Joseph put his jar Of mustard under cover, packed away His food supplies, and, calling it a day, Donned hat and coat and shambled out of sight, Giving to Bill and Mike a gruff “Good night.” CO clo@olKx & Cl ©