Adventure Magazine Cover — page 186: what you’re looking at

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

A MR. BURROW gave up the prob- As lem of articulation. He raised the * hood of the car and adjusted some- When he came back he appeared to have regained the power of speech. ‘“‘Wait a minute,” he said. His hands were greasy, so he procured a bunch of waste from the tool-box and carefully wiped each digit. Having accomplished this task to his satisfaction, he boldly returned and thrust his right out to Miss Asheton. ‘“‘T know,” he said, ‘‘that I don’t deserve quarter, but you are the gamest sport I ever saw and I want to be able to tell my grand- chidren that I once shook hands with you. After which,” he added, “‘I am going down on my marrow-bones and make my most contrite obeisances.”’ Miss Asheton did not this time repudiate the amenities. She smiled forgiveness. ‘Why were you so atrociously horrid?” she asked, as though the psychology of his behavior mildly piqued her interest. ‘““You see, I was a woman-hater,” he ex- plained. “Oh, are you? How interesting!”’ “Tam not!” hotly denied Mr. Burrow. “But you just said ” “T just said Iwas. There’s a big differ- ence between saying you were something and saying you are something. Life is a matter of tenses.” Ohi” “Do you know what a woman-hater is?”’ inquired Mr. Burrow, as the car nosed its way deliberately along Jaffa Junction’s principal esplanade. “Certainly,” replied Miss Asheton. “It’s a man who thinks he’s a little wiser than other men, and who is, in fact ” she hesitated politely, ‘““—who may be mis- taken.” “Tt’s a man,” savagely supplemented Mr. Burrow, ‘‘who’s such a blank-dashed fool that he glories in his folly! Until ten minutes ago I was one of them.” Miss Asheton said nothing. It occurred to the Honorable Alexander that she might be thinking of Lewis Copewell. The thought filled him with hot indignation. Who was Lewis Copewell that a goddess, playing truant from Olympus, should trouble her decorative head about him? Thinking of the decorative head, Mr. Burrow turned in his seat to contemplate it. The car veered into the ditch but without casualty. Houses sit along Jaffa Junction’s thorough- Adventure fares as Chinese beads are strung—at ex- tended intervals. Illumination is yet in the future. The ways are dark. Besides, ran Mr. Burrow’s train of thought, if Lewis Copewell wanted her, why wasn’t he on hand to claim her? If he, the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow, was to be dragged scores of miles to act as a human dead-letter office for unclaimed girls, surely he was justified in taking possession in his own distinguished person. The cir- cumstances emancipated him from any Quixotic ideas of loyalty to Lewis Copewell. He turned again to the passenger in the tonneau. ‘‘Aren’t you afraid you'll ditch your car if you keep turning around?”’ quietly in- quired Miss Asheton. “Tt’s quite probable,” acknowledged Mr. Burrow. “Perhaps it would be safer for you to sit in front. I’m effervescing with repartee—scintillating with epigram. You need to be amused. It will take your thoughts off of your temporary annoyances and prevent brooding. Brooding is bad.” “Possibly even that wouldn’t distract my mind,”’ she ventured. “Then run the car,’”’ suggested the Hon- orable Alexander, surrendering his place. “The more you have to do just now, the better for you. The less I have to do, the better I can talk.” Miss Asheton took the wheel. The arrangement gave Mr. Burrow the opportunity to study her profile as she watched the road. It occurred to Mr. Bur- row that he had hitherto lost much out of life by neglecting to study profiles. Then came the realization that after all this was the only profile in the world. “Now,” began that gentleman cheerfully, “this little hitch in your plans is not really so fatal as it seems.”’ “Tt’s funny that he didn’t get off the train,” said the girl. “Yes, it’s so funny that there’s no use trying to explain it,’ Mr. Burrow assured her. ‘And I don’t know what to do,” she con- tinued. “T have a perfectly rational and logical plan,” confided her escort. ‘One, in fact, which I regard as an improvement on the original.” ‘“What is it??? This somewhat doubt- fully. Miss Asheton saw no fault with the previous arrangement. CO MICLMOOOKS ©