Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 181: what you’re looking at

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

A Hot-Dog in a Hurry doing the selfsame thing. Yet here was Morisson—— Her eyes fell from his expressionless face to his hand. He grasped a pencil, and his fingers were so tight about it that they showed up chalk-white against the scarlet blotter. Over Mr. Morisson’s fat shoulder she closed one eye in emphatic reassurance to the Hot Dog, who was looking the picture of blank disappointment. ‘We won’t eat up any more of your time, Mr. Morisson,” she said, tapping the in- ventor on the arm. A moment more and they stood outside the office in the hall that faced the stairway. “Pick yourself up,” she advised Jimmy Squires encouragingly. “If I know any- thing about Mr. Billy Morisson, he’s going to get after your stuff with all claws.” ‘With both f-feet, you mean,” the inven- tor growled. “It’s a wonder he didn’t set the d-dog on me!”’ Miss Dem chuckled. ‘“‘That’s Billy M. to a T,”’ she told him. “He thinks that makin’ a whisper like cold feet will take a slice off the price. He wants your films all right. There was only one deal I know of when he didn’t kick at the admission fee—and that was once when lit- tle Billy, Jr., got lost, strayed, and stolen all in a bunch.” Jimmy shook his head. What Miss Dem said was quite unbelievable to him. He felt the bitterness of defeat after months of hard work. As they passed through the little house at the gate a stout man came up to them. “Want a job?”’ he asked of the Hot Dog. “‘T don’t care,” the inventor returned list- lessly. ‘“‘We’re short a general utility man,”’ the stout man went on, ‘and any one that comes with Miss Dem here——”’ “None of your flattery, John!” Miss Dem said, twinkling at him. The short of it was that the Hot Dog, dampened of his hopes for a fortune, conde- scended to a job and wages. | When they got outside Miss Dem turned to Jimmy Squires with a smile. “I told you Morisson was going to lower the price on you, didn’t I?”’ “Td sell it cheap—’’ he began. ““Exactly!’? Miss Dem observed gleefully. “He told John to offer you the job so he could keep his eye on you.” 179 “Huh!” Squires exclaimed disgustedly. “That proves nothing.” “Well,” Miss Dem observed sagely, ‘‘if I know B. M., he’s goin’ to get you on the dollar-ninety-eight table before he’s through with you.” NEARLY a week passed before : Miss Dem met the inventor again. It seemed that Morisson was still - inclined to doubt, yet at the same time was loath to let Squires out of his sight lest he should really have something of value. So Morisson had given some of the fire-proofed films to his own chemist, Falworth, to test. Meanwhile, the inventor stayed about the plant engaged in light duties at a fair wage. He began to lose his haggard look, eating and sleeping more, and continually hoping that the matter would be decided, and that Morisson would buy his invention at a good figure. Miss Dem fount Jimmy Squires and Fal- worth together at the studio. They had grown very friendly. The chemist talked entertainingly—or rather he listened enter- tainingly, with an occasional word to draw the Hot Dog out. He was a dull, sleepy- looking man, with heavy-lidded eyes, and he moved with unexpected swiftness for a stout man. Miss Dem had never liked Falworth, but Morisson banked on him. He slid away as Miss Dem approached, - with: languid nod and a backward look over his shoulder. “How goes it?” she asked of the Hot Dog. “F-first-rate!”’? he returned enthusiasti- cally. ‘TI think Mr. M-Morisson is going to buy. Falworth is very kindly trying to in- terest him. I’ve explained things to him, and he thinks it’s a bully invention if it will work under all conditions. He’s testing the films in all sorts of ways. Just now he has put some in a safe, and if they stand a time test there, stowed away under conditions that would explode ordinary celluloid, why, my fortune’s made!” He beamed on Miss Dem with his parti- colored eyes, adding— “Falworth has been dandy to me!” Miss Dem shrugged her shoulders. ‘“‘T never cottoned to Falworth,”’ she said. ‘Don’t tell him too much, Jimmy.” The Hot Dog looked down at his boots. “Have you?” she asked anxiously. “‘I—I’ve told him all he wanted to know,” he admitted. ‘‘What else c-could I do?” CoOMmichoooks CO