Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

Tub Tobin Repeats inside. Before him stretched a long, car- peted hall. Through the first door he plunged. . Old Birdseed looked up from his toddy, remarking with a smile— “So we meet again, young fellow.” “Yes, sir,” gulped Tobin. ‘‘Name—Tobin, isn’t it?” Tobin didn’t answer—he was unable to. For a pair of lean arms thrust up behind him had clamped about his neck. His wind was shut off. All he could manage was a blub-blub-blub. He heard Jamieson ex- plaining— “A thief, general. Ordinary pickpocket. He has something of mine. Stole it at the bath house. May I search him, sir?” “Certainly, Jamieson.” Old Birdseed had risen to his feet. He watched Jamieson whirl Tobin into the corner and dig up the something. ‘A mere scrap of paper? Why all the fuss over it?’ This from old Birdseed, idly curious. “Some new code stuff I was working on, sir,” lied Jamieson who turned to a near-by table on which rested a burning spirit lamp. Old Birdseed had been heating his liquor there. Jamieson casually stuck the tell- tale paper in the flame. In an instant it had gone to ashes filtering between his thin fingers onto the costly carpet. “Oh, !” Tub Tobin was actually crying. Everything had gone “blooey.” He dropped his head on his arms. The wind had been taken out of his sails of hope. “Pll ring for the sergeant-major,”’ inter- posed Jamieson. “This man can’t reach the guard house too soon.”’ s “You go upstairs this minute and cover your nakedness,” said old Birdseed. ‘I'll look after the fellow for the time being.” Jamieson went pat-pat-pat-patting down the hall. Old Birdseed pressed a button on his desk, lighted a long cigar, and sat back in his chair. ‘“‘How’s your eye, boy?” he enquired of Tub. Tobin looked up and found the brigadier offering a type-written sheet for his in- spection. “Read it through, Tobin, and tell me what you think of it,” said old Birdseed. Tub waved it aside. “T can’t,” he blurted out. for help—I came to tell you “T came here be 173 “Ring off,” rasped old Birdseed. ‘‘Readit.”’ Tobin read with smarting eyes. The thing in part ran: With such assistance I shall be able to put in operation this coming Summer the school of instruction I have so long indorsed and fought for. One hundred thousand francs, roughly, will put the school across. What patriotic gentleman of means will come forth from our midst and put his name to a subscription of that amount? “Pretty good—hits the nail on the head, doesn’t it?” old Birdseed asked as Tobin looked up. “You said it, sir,” replied Tobin, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. ‘And, sir,” he calmly continued, ‘I’d like to subscribe that money.”’ . Old Birdseed went a beety color. “Don’t be insulting, boy,” he whipped out. “I stand for so much, then i “Farthest thing from my mind,” said Tobin, brightening up. His eye twinkled mischievously. ‘Recently, general, I came into an inheritance. An old French uncle left it tome. I can not use it—it’s no use to me. Tl put my monicker to the sub- scription you’re askin’ for.” For old Birdseed’s benefit he thrust out the black box he’d been guarding so zeal- ously. ‘““There,”’ he said. “Your lunch?” asked old Birdseed with @ suggestion of sarcasm. “No, sir! Your school of instruction. One hundred thousand francs—to the last cent.” Tobin flipped back the lid, exhibit- ing packet after packet of dusty French paper. “Took them to a Doullens bank, yesterday. Had ’em counted. They’re all there—one hundred thousand.”’ “‘Merry Christmas,”’ was all the brigadier could say. Tobin rattled on. ‘An’ I’ll subscribe it, I say, provided you’ll listen to a com- plaint I’ve got to make——”’ Old Birdseed had cut in— “Well, if it’s anything about Captain Jamieson, as I fully believe it is, you might as well forget it. In my brigade, at least, one is not permitted to speak disparagingly of his superiors.” The curtains behind them had parted. An immaculate Jamieson entered. “Nervy gaffir, isn’t he, sir?” he said, referring to Tobin. “Lots of nerve,’’ said old Birdseed, DOO nn C© inn