Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

Tub Tobin Repeats steady and he ran off a possible in his old Bisley way. To this day men talk of the wonder-work of Private Tub Tobin at Masnicres. It would be folly to attempt description of the divers shapes into which Tub got his limbs at each shot. One thing certain is that old Birdseed and his retinue never saw ,any- thing of the like before. The old man’s face turned an apoplectic purple as he saw his unbeatable score being equaled—and in a way, moreover, that left no doubt as to the identity of the more brilliant performer. Tub Tobin actually stopped short of standing on his head to fire but the positions he did assume never- theless established precedent for every musketry manual under the sun. “Crackl’”’ Tobin’s rifle would bark. “Bull’s eye,” the register-keeper would drone. “Ah!” old Birdseed would breathe from back of his purple. As the signal disc on Target 20 waved on Tobin’s final shot, old Birdseed started to preach. “In my new school, gentlemen “Vou shaid it shir!” This interruption from Tobin on whom the hot sun was get- ting in its work. Old Birdseed eyed Tobin closely. Finally he said: “You’ve got nerve, my boy, and I’ve been trimmed—for the first time in my life. You’ve put it over. But, boy, the next time we meet, and I’m sure we shall meet again, I’ll turn the tables. You won’t repeat next time. For the present, good- by, gentlemen.” “Toodaloo,’ Tub Tobin called affec- tionately, but the brigadier was out of ear- shot, striding back to the humming Sun- beam. ‘“Holy smoke!”’ said the amazed non-com instructor as the brass hats whirred away, “T never dreamed you had it in you, Tobin.” ‘“‘Thassho?” leered Tub from the bed of grass on which he’d suddenly wilted, ‘‘Whash you think I done with the beer— leave it back there at the shtaminay?”’ 9) pag TUB TOBIN’S past experience with fee trains had taught him that all the “1 slow ones weren’t routed through Arkansas. The one dragging him from Masniéres up to the line, was even more tortoise-like 163 than the average French crawler. Early that morning he had bundled himself into the dilapidated compartment. In the dirty seats, broken woodwork and shattered glass he had read an uncomfortable trip up country which he was now experiencing. Tobin’s disgust had run the length of the multiplication table several times. Curled up on one of the chairs from which dust puffed at every twist of his chilled body he vainly attempted to get some sleep. Noth- ing doing! Gusts of rain swept in through the broken windows to add to his misery. Up ahead in the darkness the tortoise grunted and tooted and tooted and grunted, striving as best it knew how to get some- where, but to Tobin’s prejudiced thinking never making any headway. “Brrrrht’’ came from Tub’s lips as he opened his eyes for the fortieth time in the last kilo. ‘‘Brrrh! Wonder how far it is to Neuville St. Vaast? Will I ever get there?”’ Neuville St. Vaast, the R. T. O. had told him, was where he might expect to locate his unit. “Great Peter!” Tobin went on, “I could make better time walkin’ an’ for two bits I’d parti this junkheap.” The train carriage rocked violently, seemed to stand on end, then came down with a bump that sprawled its occupant on the floor, equipment about his ears. It was evident that the braking end of the tooter and grunter worked satisfactorily if the steam part didn’t. “To with it,” fumed Tobin, and dived for his harness like a thirsty steer heading for water. He slung his rifle and kicked open the carriage door. It was inky black but after considérable eye straining he made out a faint glimmer not so far off. Lamps! Lamps meant a town of some size and a town meant a road and a chance for a lift with up-bound traffic. The kilo and a half of Tub’s judging lengthened into three of sweating and swear- ing before he pulled himself over a tall fence and dropped onto a cobbled road. “Hooray!” he yelled, for he was just in time. Rumbling toward him was a big lorry with dazzling lights. ‘Tobin dashed out into the street. “Stop!” he bawled, but his appeal was drowned in the roar of the truck’s exhaust. COmiclbooks.G© in