Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

Law West of the Pecos the look of relief that came to her face when he answered in the negative. At breakfast the next morning while Mrs. Goode hovered over them with dishes of fried pork, milk gravy and hot biscuits, the judge was interested to know if Con- nolly was still firm in his intention to re- main in Val Verde. Connolly was sute of himself. “I was ordered to ‘Go West, young man, and grow up with the country,’ and if Val Verde has not yet reached her legal majority I think I’ll stay and grow up with her.” “Well, sir, by gracious, she’ll be pleased. What you reckon on doing whilst you and her’s reaching votin’ age?” From Mike’s very patent evidences of material prosperity the judge had rather looked for mention of investments. It would not have surprized the old man had Mike spoken of investing anywhere from ten to one hundred thousand dollars in cattle, mines or Bermuda onions. But he was not prepared for the dull flush that rose above Mike’s last no-longer- clean collar, or for the thick, embarrassed— “Yll do anything for a bit that will pay my keep.’”’ Something in the homely par- ental kindness of the two old people had kept Mike from telling anything but the truth of his financial situation. “What you fitted to do?” “T’m not really fitted to do anything.” “T judge you got a college education, ain’t you?” “A part of one. I had an A. B. and was studying law—was nearly through my course—when they threw me out.” “Threw you out, eh, and ordered you West?” “See here, judge.”” Mike cleared a little space on the table before him so he could lean forward and talk into the old man’s face. “If you—if you—are going to be my guide, philosopher and friend here in Val Verde—and it looks as if you meant to be so—let me tell you a little about myself. My great-grandfather came to Boston from Ireland, a plain man, an uneducated man—but what a head for business! We have a painting of him. It hangs in my father’s library, not the drawing-room. <A reproduction of the Van Dyck portrait of Governor Winthrop presides there. But my great-grandfather—” the young man seemed to visualize him proudly as he spoke —‘“he was a fine old chap, fine-looking, like 173 Henry Clay or William McKinley. He made millions paving the streets of Boston.”’ “Well, he must have been a'pretty fine old chap.” “My grandfather married Patience Win- throp. I remember my grandmother, stiff black silk dress, Chantilly lace shawl, ivory- headed cane and all. Oh, the real thing! But my grandiather never stopped being grateful to a Winthrop for marrying a Con- nolly.” : “No woman wants a man being ever- lastingly grateful because she married him,” broke in Mrs. Goode. “My father was raised to the idea of using the Connolly money and power to keep the Winthrop family tree green and thtiving. Mother was an Addicott, my sisters are perfect Puritan products, but I’m a throw-back.” The judge nodded understandingly. “Get a bit of Holstein blood in a bunch of Herefords, and you’ll sure draw black and white calves ever’ so often.” “No one in our family has had red hair and freckles since grandfather Connolly’s grandmother, and in spite of Governor Winthrop I’ve always had a natural taste for common things and common people.” The judge rose and beamed down at Mike quizzically. : “Young fellow, what you needed was a change of range and feed. Yes, sir, by gra- cious, you needed to get away from where the breaking waves dash high on that stern ~and rock-bound. coast and come West to where the horned frog mourneth for its first-born and the side-winder croons to its mate. You prospect round and see if you can land a job to your liking, and remem- ber here’s your home.” @ FOR two weeks Mike ranged Val * Verde and its environs in search of employment, but a recent big ein- nabar strike had brought in more experi- enced labor than the mines could use, and it was the between round-ups season at the ranches. Once or twice it was too evident that a vacancy was being created as a favor to the old judge, and Mike refused. Venturing into a poker-game, the major portion of his fifty had disappeared like snows on the brine, and Mike’s wide grin was making fewer and fewer public appear- ances, when, one morning after breakfast the old judge invited him for a walk. COMMICLOOOKS (E@