Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 207: what you’re looking at

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

The She passed him the Telegram, marvel- ing at his accent. He took it in a gnarled and twisted hand whose fingers he seemed to find difficulty in opening. “Tt’s a nice little burg you got here,” he went on, as confident of his welcome as of his ability with his fists. ‘‘De dump ain’t half bad fer dis end of de extenshun. It’sa live little station with a nice crop o’ sports. An’ de skirts is some pickin’s, if de samples I seen a’ready is average.” “T’m pleased to know you like it,” mur- mured Carola. She had gathered that he was paying a compliment to the town, but was so hazy as to his further meaning that she did not care to risk any further comment. “Tt strikes me fine!” he acclaimed. ‘““Dey’s not’in shows a town’s class like de sports and de chickens. Any tank on de railroad like dis dat kin line up a real purse fer a classy bout an’ kin flash a broiler like you is good enough fer me. Dere ain’t not’in to it, lady! It’s de goods—dat’s wat! It’s de goods!’ Carola was not equal to sustaining a con- versation in this vein, and yet she could not dismiss a customer. In some distress she looked up at the balcony and perceived that Young Kelly was glowering down at her, or at his rival of the ring. The garrulous Marty followed her glance and saw his enemy. A fine contempt strug- gled for expression in him. “Dey ain’t but one t’ing I got ag’inst de place,” he continued. ‘‘W’y, when dey was stagin’ de real t’ing, didn’t dey git me a match wid somethin’ that kin fight? It’s easy money fer me, and maybe I oughtn’t to kick, but dere ain’t no int’rest in lickin’ a poor nut like dat Jew. If he wasn’t always shootin’ off about dat time he slipped one over on me down to N’Orleens, I wouldn’t never heard him shoutin’.”’ “Why,” said Carola, feeling that she must be loyal to an older friend, ‘‘Misteh Kelly is avery nice young man, and I’m suah he is quite fohmidable.”’ Marty snorted in disgust. ‘Say, lady!’ he ejaculated. ‘If youse are lookin’ fer real class don’t waste no time on that fellow. He ain’t there with it—see! Take me tip, lady, and don’t listen to none of his stuff. If youse are lookin’ fer com- pny, let little Marty hang around and buy you candy. Say de woid, lady, and I'll bring me trunk around.” Trap 205 “Tsn’t youh trunk hehe?” asked Carola innocently. “Naw! W’at you givin’ me?” said Marty with a good-natured laugh. ‘Say, you ought to get wise to class when you lamp it, lady. Dis guy ain’t dere, I’m tellin’ you. He’s livin’ on a rep he got by a fluke, and dat’s de straight goods. See, it was dis way. “Dis guy and me was matched down dere last year, and dere was not’in to it. I sized him right before de fight had gone de first round, and I knew it was easy. I was goin’ along under wraps, to give de crowd a run fer its money, and I gets careless, see! In de fourt’ round I feints him wid me left— like dis, see! Den I breaks ground on him, dis way, and aims to draw him across w’ere I’d git me right into his mark. “But just den I looks around to s’lute a friend in de ring-side seats, and dis fellow, who’s already half blind, swings a wild hay- maker dat I don’t see. Honest, lady, I was showin’ him clear up before he put dat one across. He just lams away widout lookin’, like dis, and I gits in de way of it. It comes —bam! Right on de point o’ de jaw, and = ‘And you ain’t never got over the scare it gave you since that time!” a voice of sup- pressed rage finished for him. Carola started and nearly screamed. Marty McGuire had been so interested in belittling Abe that he had forgotten the proximity of that young man. He had been performing, for the benefit of the amazed Carola, a realistic and accurate imitation of the bout at New Orleans, and had illus- trated the crucial moves and blows by crouches, side-steps and swings. She had shrunk back of her case and was looking un- easily on this performance when the voice of Young Kelly interrupted. Marty McGuire whirled about. The spectators surged forward. In the twinkling of an eye the lobby of the hotel was swarm- ing with people who had wind of the coming fracas. A swirling circle of pushing and crowding spectators formed around the twomen. In the rear of this the burly form of A. B. Crabbe vainly tried to force a passage. Marty shoved a pugnacious jaw forward and hunched belligerent shoulders. But Young Kelly, very much the gentleman, first turned to Carola. ‘Was this guy annoying you, Miss Mes- senger?”’ he said. CoOMmichooOokS.Ec©