Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 184: what you’re looking at

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

174 pushing the call button for the second time. Then he got up, cleared his throat, and about-faced. “A few minutes ago—” his voice dripped sting—“the Hun dropped a shell in the swimming place. Your colonel, Tobin, got it badly. He petered out on the spot. But before he died he got something off his chest—unburdened his conscience. What he said was said to me over the phone. Told as well as a dying man could tell it.” Old Birdseed wheeled like a tiger at bay. “You, Jamieson—” he thrust a finger in his subordinate’s face—“you are an un- speakable cur. For two cents, old as I am, I’d doff my tunic and whale daylight out of you.” “Why? What do you mean, sir?” asked a now shaky Jamieson. “Mean? Why, I mean that Stokes case of last week. You know too well, you lily- liveredthing. Your pardner in crime told me all. Wasn’t that poor Stokes’ warning message you burned here a short while back? Wasn’tit? Answerme. Wasn’t 1?” Jamieson of the pale puttees and the flaring breeches hung his head. The starch had gone out of his spine if not out of his dress. A faint ‘Yes, sir,” issued from his bloodless lips. Old Birdseed glanced about. ‘“‘Are you there, major?”’ he called. ‘Here, sir,”’ was the snappy response, and a newcomer stepped into the room. Old Birdseed frowned. “T had to ring twice for you, major. Please do not let it occur again.” ‘““No, sir!” Old Birdseed cleared his throat, then added: : “Captain Jamieson is under arrest, major. You will consider yourself his escort until further notified.” The massive hall door had clanged shut. Old Birdseed was saying: ‘There I’ve gone and kicked myself out of my school. If Id let you talk, Tobin, I presume I would have had the money. But I had to put on the drama, myself, and spoil things.” Tub Tobin fondled the money box pro- vocatively. “T take it for granted, general, that Mr. Stokes will be cleared of all blame?”’ ‘‘Complete exoneration, my boy, with all possible speed.” Adventure “Well, I guess our deal’s off, unless——-’ Old Birdseed broke in— “Unless you’d like a job in this school of mine, if I get it, a job of teaching the young idea how to shoot.” ‘“‘No, thanks, sir,’’ declined Tobin. ‘I’m kinda fed up on France. Two years an’ a half of it takes the pep out of a guy. I think Id like a rest.” “Rest?” “Yep! A good long one—one of them instructor jobs back in Canada. I saw in orders where they’re callin’ for sergeant instructors.” Old Birdseed thumped the table with his fist. “Done,” he cried. ‘I can fix you up with one of those very jobs. It will take a lot of wire pulling at this late hour and I'll likely get hauled over the coals for it, but—but it’s worth the chance. A batch of instructors are sailing from blighty the first of the week. You'll be on that sailing list, Tobin.” “Tt’s a go,” enthused Tub. ‘‘Let’s shake on it, sir.”’ “Now,” gloated old Birdseed, “now—the money.” Tub Tobin smilingly tucked the black box under his arm. ‘First,’ he said, “my move order home—then, general, your money.”’ Tobin had gone. Old Birdseed, toddy at elbow, sat back in his chair, ruminating. “Smart lad, that Tobin. But he slipped up today. Let me get away with that cash too easily. Luck? Tl say it is. You never know your luck.” ia TUB TOBIN, sporting white chev- Pe rons—three on each arm—looked eed Out on the broad Atlantic. The good ship Curonia was already a day out from Liverpool. ‘Home again, no more to roam again,”’ he hummed with a smile. ‘‘Jimminy crickets! I'll bet old Birdseed tore his hair when he found out about that money. “Imagine me goin’ to all that trouble to get it, fool I was, an’ then to have a pimple-face of a Frenchie bank clerk tell me: ‘“““Pas bon, m’sieur. Pas bont This money ees the money of the old gambling days. Since the war its issue has been called in. It has no value now—none whatever.’ ”’ micloool | (© inn