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Pulp Fiction, 1922 · page 96 of 196

Adventure, February 20, 1922 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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Adventure, February 20, 1922 — page 96: Pulp Fiction, 1922

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ea te , +4) : e . « ed eey As he Mpigtd tH Oat Behe | i? GaeAT Ube a d TA) Vy 74 : ' } vA ? , a; nf ‘ ¢ > Vip Wwe vi ” ‘ — he WPT pet ' iN® i} ns 5 v9 Maly) ‘* ‘ree TAN eR nh gta Len Me ed * A i WROD Yl S Phe? Oia Ms a OCS Laks Iw, hide ¢ 4 Myr s ate it Mie » art Vy TANS th S ’ 4 LF TLE yy SAY) at * ry » a \\ NEE LAP TTI Naat Oe ‘ oO? Tere ae Ws eM wwe : is c c MAST ; ad ; N u afl | Vey M PP Mae ery Pi 94 , 5 zs _ Told him Id see the color of his blood— T’ll have him out yet! Had the audacity to say I was reported as talking indiscreetly. ” “Tt’s either Wentsel or Cunningham. I’’ believe it’s Cunningham,”’ I said. This afforded him a diversion for his rage. He became the victim of a conspiracy. The wound to his vanity was healed. He ; talked of having Wentsel out, colonel or no colonel. of the walk, I with my back to the street, and while he talked his silly stuff my ear - caught a tap-tap behind me. Saleby sud- denly ceased his raving and staged curiously by me. I started to turn my head but desisted when he exclaimed— “Old Mother Baff; and she seems to have the run of this end of the town!” The tapping of her staff continued and I ventured to twist my head. She was not only making free with the military neigh- borhood but she was even braving the entrance to headquarters. She had not noticed us, although passing very close. Her straggling white hair concealed her profile with the exception of her nose and chin, and as she hitched up the steps she began whining: “Tt’s only old Mother Baff, dear. I must see the soldier men. Old Mother Baff has something to sell. They know me, dear—” this to the sentinel—“they bought my wares before.”” And to my relief she was permitted to pass inside. Had she been re- buffed I fear she would have noticed me and have recognized me as the man coming to ‘Paul Bowen’s assistance. “Burn my bones! And that old hag _ will get Sir William’s ear and one of his Majesty’s officers is wigged for talking too much!” exclaimed Saleby. “She has some news for them,” I sug- gested, beginning to edge up the stret. “Blood money. Ever since she piped on old Berce they’re keen to listen to her. - 'There’s one blessed consolation—some day Canvas Town will finish her for the gold they believe she has hidden away.” 7) WE QUICKENED our pace and | #) soon reached the tavern and found the suppressed excitement of head- quarters had spread and was being given _ free expression. Officers were talking in groups and ignoring the civilians as a rule, although here and there a prominent Tory was a member of a circle. We were hailed We were standing on the inside: << + et Se ad = - =) to Sta —“ - - = e ~ Saat 3 5 2 2 Pm mre a ™~ Adventure the moment we entered the ordinary, and Saleby waved his hand toward the relish- room, where there would be less confusion. We secured a table and were joined by Maugem, Betler and several other friends of the captain. Despite the rebuke administered at head- quarters Saleby began— ‘Things are stirring, gentlemen. Been to One Broadway. Hope none of you suffer from seasickness.”’ “So it’s that, after all,” said an artillery officer. “Then Sir Henry Clinton will command here. Ill hang myself if they leave me behind.” ‘“‘They started making the rounds of the prisons this afternoon trying to get the rebels to sign the rolls. Three chaps in the Presbyterian church in Wall street enlisted and took the oath; then backed down when they got outside. Said they did it just to get a mouthful of fresh air. They soon learned it was a firing squad, or a noose, for a deserter, and they had to go along. But they'll never live to see the Chesapeake.” This from a captain of light horse. “Probably our last night together here. Let’s make it lively,” urged Saleby. “And I suggest an early start,” I said. All agreed to take horse after we had finished a bowl of punch then brewing. The younger men chattered away like magpies, very happy to shift cities. One or two of the older men looked grave. One asked me if I had arranged to enter the service, and before I could answer Saleby was complaining: “It’s a blighting shame, but all he thinks of is northern service up among those cursedly tall trees and wolves! People in our colony of Virginia take to woods and wild creatures as naturally as a trooper to strong drink. He’d rather fight the Oneidas than to make love to pretty Quakeresses.”’ “But the Oneidas are neutral,” said Bet- ler. “‘They’ll take the path when brave Bur- goyne’s red men sweep down through the northern forest. Then I'll get a crack at them,” I said. The punch arrived and the next fifteen minutes were consumed in drinking the king’s health and damnation to all rebels. Next came toasts of a sentimental nature. Audrey Betworth was given by initials with much sincerity. .Saleby whispered to me: Gomiuck tae CSG