Adventure Magazine Cover — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

DONT' SWAT | rad on pe = = “ @ ee they gf! 3 : ! \ pe Seer iq 4 $ . aes fi ’ . 4 , 4 ‘ aS? “Gs tg | , ‘ . na rf & ¥ oA Fs “Y gs Nf) re of, f Ms ie “ —~ ~ ° i] +. - . aoe / of iy 2 / MA COlwWEele Vorpelellea - by Thomson Burlay ’* Se — fed oo wy mM 4. = > : : “ ‘ “on -* hi * omen @' ry 3 : : se 4 ae eer 5 -_—= pet OE eC {ri oe fe “ +o Bay) | .S \\\ & ts \| ANY AN We Wty WW g Author of “Haunted Skyways,” “The Moment of Greatness,” etc. ye ASHAWAY” LEWIS, gentleman of color and chief factotum of the bachelor officers’ mess, had developed a system of his own for coping with the problem of breakfast. The flyers of the Mechanics’ School had individualistic ideas regarding the breakfast hour, and likewise concerning the proper way to serve an egg. It was Hashaway’s custom to keep his good eye peeled and cocked in the general direction of the quarters, which adjoined the mess-hall. When a flyer hove in sight Hashaway identified him, exploded two eggs into a waiting frying-pan and dispatched Taylor, his unreliable assistant, to the table with grapefruit and coffee. Taylor, com- monly known as the “Ethiopian Reptile,” was an eminent exponent of the art of throwing sevens and likewise of doing the least work possible under any given con- ditions. On this particular morning Donovan Field, the largest flying field in the world, had been up and about its business for an hour or more when Hashaway’s weather eye beheld a tall and lounging gentleman approaching the mess-hall. “Quick, nigguh—heah come Lootinint Brannon,” he warned Taylor. Taylor left the coffee pot flat and leaped for the ice-box, where Brannon’s private glass of grapefruit juice was waiting. Bran- non ‘‘sho’ had principles about vittles,”’ as Hashaway frequently remarked. 4 The four belated airmen who were tinker- ing with their breakfasts greeted the new arrival in rough morning voices. “Well, how’s the near civilian this morn- ing?” inquired ‘Slim’? Evans, who was six feet four and could crawl through the eye of a needle. “Pretty fair,” returned Brannon casually, “except that I’m a bit worried about Russia.” The newcomer was tall and slender and languid. His long, thin, deeply tanned face had a whimsical touch which was the result of a slightly one-sided smile and sloping eyebrows which almost met in a V above his aquiline nose. His dark eyes were large and sleepy-looking and ordinarily were shielded by eyelids that drooped heavily. One of the lines from nostrils to mouth turned into a deep wrinkle on its way around. Although Brannon did not look _ thirty-two, which was his age, his quizzical countenance was that of a man who had seen and experienced much. He moved with a certain careless ease, dropping into his chair and leaning back in total relaxation. He was plainly a man who took things easy. ‘You look debauched this merry morn, Slim,” he remarked. ‘“You’re nothing but a human hangover right now.” “Ym a walking headache,” admitted I:vans morosely. Then, “What the are you getting out of the Army for, Jim?”’ héDurst forth querulously. 157 C© CloOOOLKKS ©