Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 184: what you’re looking at

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

182 heartily as it were man to man. “Trust me to the boneyard, Steve!” she reassured him. “TI wasn’t here last night. That’s the final word on it!” Steve’s face cleared. “You're all right!’ he declared, and turn- ing, went downstairs to his post. Left to herself, Miss Dem wandered around, wondering at the amount of dam- age a single explosion could wreak. Every- body was talking at once. A workman was telling a group of new arrivals his version of the event. He pointed out the gaping safe at the end of the room. “It started in that there safe,” he said. ‘Some fil-ums they was testin’ blowed up and done all the mischief. Mr. Morisson he says he won’t try no more fil-ums unless they’re warranted to bust up. These here was fire-proof fil-ums. He’s tried a lot of "em, and you can’t never depend on ’em.”’ Miss Dem turned away with a pang of pity for the Hot Dog. They had been his films after all. And if so, here was the end of his dreams of a fortune—for the present at least. As she went out through the gate she ran into the Hot Dog himself. His hat was pulled down over his eyes, his hands were thrust deep into his pockets. “Hello, Jimmy!” she accosted him more cheerfully than she felt. ‘Have you been in yet?” She wagged her head toward the building she had just quitted. He lifted despairing eyes and looked at her. “N-no,” he answered. ‘‘Falworth ad- vised me to k-keep out of the old man’s way. He’s furious at me.” ‘“‘The deuce he is!’’ she commented sym- pathetically. “How c-could I tell they’d blow up in the safe?’’ he mourned. “I kept a couple of them in my old safe under every possible test for weeks before I took them to Mr. Morisson.”’ ‘‘What did Falworth say?” she asked him. The Hot Dog smiled wearily. “Oh, Falworth was all right. He said he was awfully disappointed. He gave me the best chance he could—the run of his own private laboratory while he was trying the films out. He even let me keep my notes in his safe for fear some one would crib them before I got my patent out. Oh, he was dead sure it would c-come out all right, Miss Dem. He’s as much disap- Adventure pointed as I am that the n-notes and all blew up,” Jimmy finished warmly. The memory of Falworth’s friendship seemed at this tragic moment to be a comfort to him. Miss Dem opened her mouth to speak, then shut it with a snap. So the notes had gone too. If that was the case—— She bade Jimmy good-by, wished him better luck to come and went on down the street. What double-barreled idiots the two men had been—to put Jimmy’s pre- cious notes in with the films! A jackass in its dotage would have known better. But surely some scraps must have survived the flames. Why hadn’t Jimmy thought of that? He was too sodden with disappoint- ment, she supposed. And with the thought she turned on her heel and started briskly back. It was not too late for him to try and hunt them. But when she got to the plant the Hot Dog had vanished. Miss Dem glanced at the watch on her wrist. She had a little time to spare—if she went without lunch. This time she had hard work to gain admittance, privileged character though she was. It was only after a direct appeal to Mr. Morisson him- self, via the ’phone on Steve’s desk, that the door swung open, and she crossed the courtyard on the run, followed by the en- vious glances of the crowd that still lin- gered outside. She ran up the stairs and into the big studio room. The insurance agents had in- spected the damage. Already the mess was being cleared. Even the panes of broken glass had been swept up, and nowhere on the floor could she find a scrap of the precious paper she sought! She grabbed a passing workman, shaking his arm in her earnestness. ‘“‘Where’s all that stuff from off the floor?”’ she asked breathlessly. He shook his head. ‘Search me,”’ he adjured her pleasantly. “T ain’t got it in me pockets.” “Who took it away?” “Dunno,” the man returned, and went his way. Miss Dem wandered into the next room whose wall had been rent by the explosion. A man was shoveling débris from the floor —plaster and splintered wood. An idea came to Miss Dem. This, too, would go its way to the rubbish heap. So she sat down and waited. CoOMmichoooks (©