Adventure Magazine Cover — page 187: what you’re looking at

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

The Beneficent Burglar “Now you came here to get married, didn’t your” “That,” she admitted, ‘was the idea, but——” “Never give up a purpose,”’ interrupted Mr. Burrow with a note of steadfast resolve. “You came to get married. Do it!” “But,” her voice trembled just a little, “but I can’t. How can I?” “Nothing simpler. Just do as I say.” She turned her face from the wheel and gazed at him in wonderment. “How? I was on hand. J’m ready—but where’s Lewis?” “You came here to get married,”’ insist- ently repeated Mr. Burrow. “You passed up a trip to Europe and left aunty waiting in Mercerville. I came here to get you mar- ried, and passed up a Ninth Ward meeting in Mercerville. That wedding must take place!” | Her eyes gazed out at the road, under brows wrinkled with bewilderment. Mr. Burrow looked at her a moment in silence, then spoke with great impressive- ness. “A woman owes it to herself to marry the best man obtainable. I am, in my official capacity, the best man. Marry me. [am very much at your service, and it may not be irrelevant to add that I love you.”’ ) _ THE immediate effect of this an- = nouncement was that the girl at the wheel threw on the brakes and stop- ped the car with a jolt which almost sent her suitor carroming through the wind- shield. Next she turned and sat staring at Mr. Burrow, with an expression of absolute and paralyzed incredulity. Mr. Burrow felt that he had failed to make himself quite clear. ‘‘I concede that it’s a trifle abrupt,” he acknowledged, ‘‘ but I am essentially a man of action. Some dilatory fools might take a month to dis- cover that without you life is a superfluous by-product.”” The Honorable Alexander thought contemptuously of Mr. Copewell. “It is enough for me to see you. Besides, Europe yawns for you, and it’s bad luck to postpone a marriage. Possibly when you know me you'll like me. If you don’t, Pll remodel myself according to your speci- fications.’’ Phraseology notwithstanding, there was sincerity in Mr. Burrow’s voice. “It’s very good of you,” said the girl at last, speaking a trifle vaguely. ‘Your 943 courteous proposal seems to cover every possible point—except one. The one is Lewis Copewell. Really, you know, I didn’t just come here to get married at random!”’ She started the machine forward again. “TI assure you there’s nothing random — {?? about me!” argued the Honorable Alexander with dignity. She shook her head. ‘In matrimonial matters,” she told him, ‘‘one can’t eliminate the element of personal preference. [I still prefer Lewis.” Mr. Burrows sighed. Even deities, it seemed, had undiscriminating tastes. “‘ This is the hotel,’’ he said wearily. The girl looked at the uninviting facade of the building indicated. It suggested the kennel of a dog in very modest circum- . stances. ‘This—a hotel!’’ she exclaimed. “Yes,” said the man. “It isn’t a very good hotel. The County Judge lives on the next square. He can perform the marriage ceremony, you know, and his house is much nicer. Shall we go on?”’ “We will get out here,” said Miss Asheton firmly. Though it was midnight, it chanced that the hotel office was not completely deserted. Through the open door struggled the yellow glimmer of a coal-oil lamp, and its reek hung offensively on the sultriness. Two drum- mers, with loosened neck-bands and hanging suspenders, were beguiling the heavy hours with a deck of greasy cards. Dozing in dis- habille, sat mine host, his chair propped on two legs against the wall and his snore pro- claiming him in the shadow. ‘The arrival of a beautiful woman and a man in motor-togs brought the drummers to their feet with an exclamation which aroused the innkeeper. That worthy rubbed his eyes and began in a wheezing voice: ‘‘I’m afraid it’s goin’ ter be kinder onhandy to take keer of you folks. The house is mighty nigh full up.” Before Mr. Burrow could reply, one of the drummers rose chivalrously to the occasion. ‘The gent and his wife can take my room, if Mr. Sellers, here, don’t mind my doubling up with him.” The drummer had been marooned an entire day in Jaffa Junction. For a glimpse of that face at the breakfast table he would gladly have slept on the roof. Mr. Burrow cleared his throat, but before he could find words, Mr. Sellers graciously de- clared that he would be much pleased to oblige. COmiclbook CO