Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 177: what you’re looking at

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

A PA HOT-DOG IN AHURRY <4; G-HILTON-TURVEY Author of ‘““Spangles and Soapsuds,” “How It Ended,” etc. E SLID between the tail of an auto-truck and the fender of a trolley-car, just missed the front wheel of a whizzing motor-cycle, and, arriving at the curb, made a dive for the little stand on the corner. He threw down five cents. “A hot dog in a hurry!’ he demanded, and chafed while Paolo, beset with custom, ladled out a glass of birch beer to a woman with a black bag on her arm. When the “dog” was speared on a fork and slapped between two. slabs of roll, he grabbed it out of Paolo’s hand and began to devour it then and there. He was a thin man, lanky, and full of un- expected joints, which set every way of the compass. As he stood he balanced about, first on one foot, then on the other, as if he grudged himself time to eat. square shoulders humped forward — per- petually escaping doors that were a size too low. His lean cheeks bristled with the stubble of a week. His nose was bulbous and artistic, and he had one beaming blue eye and one contemplative brown eye, Altogether this gave him a now-you-see-it- and-now-you-don’t expression that was generally provocative of interest and a sec- ond look. The woman took him in as she imbibed her soft drink, leaning comfortably against the stand, like a man at a bar. He gulped down the last bite, stepped long-leggedly over a passing cat on the way His high, to the curb, and reached the other side of the street after a couple of hair-raising es- capes. Then with a final plunge he passed ’round the corner, out of sight, still on the stride of one catching the next train. The woman met the eye of the eatery- keeper with a twinkle in her own. ‘“* “A hot dog in a hurry’ for sure!’’ she ob- served. Paolo stared a moment, then chuckled: “Dat’s heem—dat’s heem! Wan hotta dog eena hurry!” He took the empty glass from her and rinsed it in a pail, still giggling delightedly over the label she had tagged on his late customer. ‘“‘Who’s your friend anyhow, Paolo?” she asked interestedly. Paolo wrinkled his brown face, trying for the right word, till he looked like a marmoset. “T no can tal you,” he said. “So mooch friends I got—their face I know; but more? Never!’ He threw out his hands in a char- acteristic gesture. ‘You come,” he went on with a smile, “‘you come ever’ day for the bircha beer—the ice-creama cone—the leetla candy. But Paolo, he no can tal what ees your name!” He paused, a faint tinge of curiosity in his attitude. The woman flipped him two cents for the “T don’t mind telling you,” she said with mock seriousness, ‘‘that my name is Miss Dem.” 175 CoMmichoooks CO