Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

Too Much Business man at the desk, dabbing at his face with his handkerchief. Matt returned to him. He dropped his hand in his pocket, quite without design, but to Mr. Shifter it seemed an ominous act. There might be something in there highly prejudicial to his anatomical entirety. He laughed affably, a heroic effort, and an- swered his own query. “Oh, yes, to be sure! Make it shipshape. Quite right. I was thinking the same thing.” Matt changed to a place behind him when the men came in, and Mr. Shifter, feeling that his life hung upon the merest thread should he make a move awry, bade them witness his signature, and even went so far as to explain to them the nature of the agreement. He considered this a clever bit of strategy that would ingratiate him with the murderous crank at his elbow. “Come to study it,” remarked Matt, when they were alone again, “this writing is all that is necessary between us. It seems to cover the case completely. Doesn’t it?” “Tt does,” concurred Mr. Shifter readily. “All I have to do now is to get busy and make good.” “That’s all,” encouraged Mr. Shifter. ‘Send in the work and we’ll do the rest.” “Better spread out a little and take on more help,” counseled Matt, preparing to leave. ‘I’m giving you fair warning.”’ “Sure! I’ll attend to it right off,’’ prom- ised Mr. Shifter. “‘Er—ah—good morning, Mr. Bailey!” As Matt disappeared through the door the laundryman slumped down in his chair, oozing relief at every pore. Yet, as he grew composed and allowed his mind to dwell upon the details of the interview, he found himself becoming doubtful of his fears. On what grounds, after all, were they based? The man’s manner, as he thought on it, was not threatening; it was simply assured. He had come to his point at once, and his speech was coherent. Ha! It was the ex- travagance of his claims—that plan of his, whatever it might be—that betrayed his de- rangement. Why, if what he proposed were possible, the White Star would have the wash work of the city cornered! He’d have to build a bigger plant. It would swamp him as things stood. Eh? What? Suppose—— But Mr. Shifter’s imagination lacked room to entertain such fanciful conceits. It 123 was stuffed with sordid, solid facts pertain- ing to the price of caustic soda, oxalic acid, chlorid of lime, and those more secret — chemicals that make the life of one’s collars and cuffs but as a fleeting dream. Tit MATT, when he left the laundry, sought a telephone booth and called up the Statesburg Pottery. He re- quested them to rush to him at his hotel, by special messenger, a sample jardiniére from the lot his option covered. Next he hunted up Mr. Harry Williams, the lawyer, and was closeted with him for an hour. After this he paid a visit to the city hall, and had a chat with the official in charge of the bureau of statistics. Coming back he stopped at a furniture store on the main retail business street and talked with the manager. And, finally, he called at the accounting-rooms of the daily papers and got their advertising-display rates, On his return to the Central House, Matt found a telegram from Pilkins. As he read it his face took on a puzzled look, then flushed angrily. Pilkins had sent him an ultimatum. It ran: You must be both. Make your route or send your time in. Matt crumpled the yellow sheet in his hand, “Both drunk and crazy, am I?” he mut- tered. ‘‘The old owl!’ He sat down, sizzling, and tried to reduce to words the telegraph company would ac- cept, his complete and ultimate opinion of the little wizened, gray-whiskered man two hundred miles away. Here he had an open- ing to pull off something that would make good money for them both, and the old pinch-penny—worth half a million, easily— wouldn’t loosen up for a beggarly few thou- sands. It was enough to make a saint sass his grandmother. By George, if he could put this thing across by himself! He had eight hundred dollars banked. It was only a drop in the bucket. But if he could get the pottery to take a chance! Matt, with this new inspiration hot upon him, forgot Old Pilkins for the time and set his thoughts at work in another channel. Eomichoo (@) <S' (E(0)