Adventure Magazine Cover — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

Vas POS , ON. aS HAGA 2d. Tele Mee EES SS A - 4 \ 2 oe r fy ake r a — Author of ‘‘Mis-Deal,’” “Goo-Lash,” etc with an old codger I used to know up North, ’way back in the early nineties. This galoot has made him a fair-sized stake an’ he’s out here in the States a-visitin’ the scenes of his childhood an’ gettin’ an eyeful of the numerous contraptions an’. improvments that, up to now, he’s merely heard of. He’s jes’ startin’ in, so to speak; but he’s already biased an’ predjudiced. An’ nervous an’ talkative. ‘ He confides to me that this whole broad land is jes’ one whirlin’ mass of wonders an’ surprizes an’ war, taxes; an’ he allows he can’t make a move or do a thing without bumpin’ into somethin’ unbelievable an’ unreal, but plumb necessary an’ expensive. He’s due to migrate back to the Yukon, come Spring; an’ he figgers that the five months remainin’ prior to his departure for the land of sourdough an’ freedom ain’t no more’n half enough time in which to sample an’ assimilate the comforts an’ annoyances that are bein’ piled on to a defenseless public like leaves on to a new-swept lawn. He ain’t been outside but a couple of months, but he’s movin’ right along. It’s plain to me that old Tom is reg’larily playin’ every hand he picks up. He ain’t missin’ a bet. Already he’s been up in a airyplane an’ down under the Sound in a submarine; he’s been yanked through a subway an’ shot up » COUPLE of days ago I meet up in the air by an express elevator; he’s sent a wireless telegram an’ bought himself a self-windin’ clock; an’ he’s done et chop- suey an’ paid a dollar for one jolt of hooch. He’s got a awttymobile an’ a uniformed showfer; an’ he knows eight places, right here in this one town, where he can get the real stuff, any time, for four bits a drink! He’s even figgerin’ on learnin’ to toddle! Which, I claim, is fair to middlin’ for an old wolf that’s nigh on to seventy. An’ when I asked him to name the most outstanding achievement of this puerile an’ progressive age; when I dare him to point out the milestone that marks the fartherest — limit of human endeavor, he rises without tremor an’ declares that the short skirt, the shimmy an’ the Eighteenth Amendment is runnin’ neck an’ neck, ’way out in front of everything that’s been done or said or even thought of since Noah squeezed out the first pes. — An’ I claim that this remark entitles old Tom to a seat right alongside the big drum. The old boy is sure a lead mule. Yes, sir, aside from him refusin’ to get his hair cut an’ a-wearin’ moccasins all the time ’cause shoes hurts his feet, Tom’s a sure-enough medicine man an’ credit to his tribe. But, is he happy? Not even a little bit, he ain’t. He’s beefin’ an’ grouchin’ an’ hollerin’ his head off all the time. With plenty of dust an’ twenty-four free hours 105 00) (E(0) IOOKS