Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

The Casual’s Return was on watch and that he would therefore be unable to appear. The social worker had an inspiration. His roving eye caught sight of Jake’s great form on the rafts. With one leap he was down off the hatch and shoving his pair of boxing gloves into Jake’s hands. “Here’s a man will go a round or. two, won’t you? I know you will! Come right down, let me help you off with your coat!” The spectators howled vigorously. They were only too eager to see some one else fed to the lions. “Go on!’ they cheered. ‘Polish him off, ‘big boy, hang one on his eye.” Jake got down from the rafts, protesting. “T don’t know how to fight,” said he. “Let some one else do it.” The social worker was already hauling at his blouse, and one or two coast artillery- men were assisting, one removing Jake’s hat and the other tugging at his sleeves. “Here,” cried Eadie, leaping down him- self. “Let go of him. If he wants to fight, all right; if he doesn’t, you aren’t going to make him.”’ “Who the —— are you?”’ demanded one of the cosmoline slingers. Eadie smote him swiftly between nose and lip, drawing claret from both. “Wow!” howled every one. Two cosmoliners leaped upon Eadie, but one of them nearly had his neck broken by a sailor seizing him by the collar of his blouse and dragging him backward. The other one met a set of knuckles thrown by one of Eadie’s own company and for a minute things looked promising. “Gawn back to your own part o’ the ship,” cried several. ‘“Gawn, yuh anti- aircraft , don’t come up here tryin’ to run no sandy!” | The social worker stood smiling vacu- ously. Five days of inaction and a hearty meat diet will do strange things with a bunch of soldiers. Then from his post on the hatch the haughty pugilist spoke. “Step up, big boy,”’ he invited, “I won’t hurt you.’ “T’ll have a go with him,” announced Jake, “only don’t put no pillows on my hands.” This announcement headed off the in- cipient riot and a ring was promptly formed. It was explained to Jake that the gloves were for the protection of his own fight! 23 hands and not for the softening of his blows. He allowed Eadie and a number of self- appointed seconds to remove his shirt and lace his gloves for him. There was a running fire of comment from the onlookers regarding the amount of hair on Jake’s chest, the probable length of time he would stand up to the champion and the prob- ability of his further disarranging the champion’s features. “Shake hands,” cried the social worker, who had elected himself referee. A big C. P. O.—chief petty officer—held the clock and the two men stepped for- ward. “Shake hands,” said the social worker again, and the pug extended his glove. Jake also extended his rather awak- wardly, and with a foolish grin on his face. The pug lightly touched Jake’s glove, and seemed to sink a little on his legs. Sock! Swifter than the eye might follow, the pug shot over a sickle-like blow that spread Jake in the starboard waterway. ‘“‘Wow!” howled the coast artillerymen. There was considerable growling from the sailors and the men of the two casual companies. “Lay off the wise stuff,” they advised the prancing champion, “this ain’t no prize Give the guy a show.” Eadie looked at Jake, expecting him to rise slowly and dazedly, but Jake got quite calmly to his feet and walked with steady pace to the center of the ring again. “That’s a —— of a way to shake hands,” he said. The battle began. The pug drummed on Jake’s ribs, made a wild swing or two that missed, and the C. P>Q. bellowed— “How | many rounds o’ this comedy?’ ; asked the pug. “How many rounds, boys?” asked the referee. “To a finish, to a finish,” howled all the coast artillerymen. “Three rounds,” growled the- sailors. “Three rounds. What the —— d’yuh think this isP Three rounds is enough.” “All right,’”’ agreed the social worker. “Three rounds it is. Ready again boys?” “Now keep your shirt on,” said the C. P. O. “I’m holdin’ the clock here. Tl give the word for time.” Shortly he gave it. The pug danced Comicbook CO =