Adventure Magazine Cover — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

The Beneficent Burglar Asheton, ‘‘you wouldn’t let me get off at Jaffa Junction.” Again the train director thought deeply. Finally he announced himself. “I’m or- dered to stop my train at Jaffa Junction. I don’t know who gets off there, see? But the brakeman will open up the vestibule door and—may you never regret it, ma’am!”’ CHAPTER IV A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS HILE these matters were transpiring, the sister express was rushing west. On the west-bound train ‘‘ Captain” Fallow chanced to be in command, and “Captain” Fallow was peeved. Sundry irritating de- lays had marred his run from Pittsburg. His firemen had been hefting coal into the engine’s cavernous maw in a Titanic effort to mend the time-losses. The locomotive had been roaring along with a streaming wake of black smoke lying level from its stack. At Mercerville only twenty min- utes were left standing in the way of a per- fect score, and at Mercerville the conductor had received orders to stop at an ungodly and forlorn tank-town in the midst of empti- ness, known by the opprobrious name of Jaffa Junction! “Captain” Fallow was fully prepared to be irascible with the Jaffa Junction party. Accordingly, when he discovered Mr. Lewis Copewell in the last seat of the last coach he eyed him without enthusiasm. “TI believe, Captain,’”? commented Mr. Copewell pleasantly, “you have instruc- tions to drop me at Jaffa Junction?” The ‘‘Captain’s” glance became flinty. ‘“*So you are that Jaffa Junction party?” The manner of saying it indicated that the designation carried black opprobrium. Mr. Copewell nodded complacently. ‘‘Cap- tain” Fallow’s stern visage became more granite-like. ‘My train is twenty minutes late now,” he accused, “‘and that jay town is one of them places where a lot of lame old ladies tries to board the train every time you stop there. It takes a Jaffa Junction prominent citizen five minutes to climb into a coach!” Mr. Copewell politely attempted to simu- late an interest in the characteristics of Jaffa Junction’s prominent citizens. ‘‘In- deed?” he said. “Captain” Fallow went on curtly. “I 935 ask you as a favor to hop off quick when we get there. I’ll have the rear vestibule open and you can fly out as soon as you feel the train slowing down. Your place will be our only stop this side of Perryville, see? Ifyou can jump down without our coming to a dead stop, it will save time.” Mr. Copewell smiled. ‘‘My dear Cap- tain,” he reassured, ‘‘I hold various cham- pionships for getting off trains. To-night I mean to break all my past records. I’m in a hurry myself.” : “Captain” Fallow’s face softened. ‘“Re- member,” he emphasized, ‘first stop is your destination.” a In view of the fact that he was on his way to meet the one lady of his heart and to foil Irate and Family, Mr. Copewell might have been presumed to be wide awake. In point of actuality, the reverse was true. Last night, anxiety and indignation had murdered sleep.-s To-day, action and pre- paration had assaulted his vitality. Now, with success at his elbow, a delightful lan- guor stole upon him. Gradually his rosy dreams became rosier, more somnolent! His head fell on his chest. Behold, the bridegroom fell snoring! SOME time later the conductor passed through the train and, arriv- ing at the front vestibule of the front coach, made a discovery. There, crouching very modestly in the shaded corner next to the rear end of the baggage-car, was a somewhat undersized youth with straight, black hair and an ex- pression of innocence which somehow did not seem to sit naturally on his rat-like countenance. ’ ‘ The conductor eyed. him accusingly. “Where’s your ticket?” he inquired without preamble. 7 The youth smiled with a disarming can- or. ‘Honest, pal,” he confided, ‘‘you kin search me! I was just goin’ through me clothes fer it when you come out. I was just sayin’ ter meself, ‘Son,’ says I, ‘where in ts dat ducket?’”’ “‘Ducket, eh!” repeated ‘‘Captain”’ Fal- low. There was a pitiless, inquisitorial note in his voice, which the young man construed as ominous. The young man bit his lip in annoyance. It was borne in upon him that he had made a most unfortunate choice of words. In C© Ghbooks C©