Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

4 BING, BANG, BOOM! soul up to now. What seems fo tickle me is how slick that there political boss was, lettin’ his man; Jones, do: all the dirty work, so ke couldn’t pessibly be implicated hisself. ‘“‘ Accordin’ to the story, he lets Jones do the forgin’ an’ changin’ the books by breakin’ into the pollin’-place. He don’t do nothin’ hisself, exceptin’ to tell Jones what to do. An’ Jones gits hisself liable to arrest fer forgery, an’ also fer breakin’ into an’ enterin’ an’ burglary! That’s what I call slick! An’ another funny thing its how funny that Jones feller must ’a’ looked when he climbed through th’ winder o’ the poll- in’-place, night b’fore election. “ That’s how I do,” went on David mm his drawling voice: ‘‘ I got such a good im- agination that when I hear a story, I kin jest picture to myself how ever’thin’ must “’9? looked. Now, we'll say, jest fer fun, that it was a moonlight mght. Here comes that there Jones feller sneakin’ down the street, dodgin’ in the shaders till he reaches the pollin’-place, which might be a drug- store—or mebbe it could be a barber-shop or somethin’, Can’t you jest see hnn, Noah, runnin’ along there with the fake poll- book under his coat—an’ a white envelope slippin’ from his pocket a leetle bit with each step he takes? ‘‘ An’ there, sneakin’ along b’hind him— though he don’t know it—comes another feller, watchin’ ever’thin’ Jones does! That second feller sees Jones drop that there white envelope out’n his pocket, an’ so he jest picks it up an’ puts it m &éts pocket. He don’t read it then, ‘cause he’s too busy watchin’ at a side winder, an” seein’ Jones change the poll-books. ‘‘But when he gits home he reads it. Gol durn it, that could be a funny letter jest as well as not, couldn’t it? Who knows ‘but what it was a letter from that there political boss to Jones—unsigned, of course, so’s he wouldn’t have nothin’ against him! —tellin’ Jones that he had looked over the fake book Jones had made, an’ found it all right, an’ teHin’ Jones the best time to do the changin’—an’ havin’ a postscript, too, tellin’ Jones to burn up that letter! ‘Right there could be the funniest part o’ the whole story. B’cause Jones js so 003 excited that he don’t burn up the letter right away like the political boss told him to, but stuffs it in his pocket, instead. An’ then, the next. day, Jones can’t tell fer the life o’ him whether he burnt that there letter or not. All he knows is that it’s gone—an’ he don’t know that somebuddy’s got it put away safe enough! Now, wouldn’t that be funny?” ‘That would be funny,” said Spigot» the twisted smile still stamped on his cold, blue lips. David looked at the prosecutor. It was the first time since he had begun his story that he had directed his gaze toward his listener. Although he was laughing, his blue eyes were like a frozen lake. | “You look kinder hot, Noah. You're sweatin’.”’ “It ts a bit warm,” Spigot replied, tak- ing out a handkerchief and mopping his streaming face. Ye-es,” drawled David. “I thought that there story might make you a Jeetle warm. | _ “ Stories like that sometimies do. When you’re overworked the way you are here, Noah, it don’t take much to exert you. That’s why I say you ought to resign an’ take a rest.” e For a moment Spigdt Bnet the station- master’s gaze; and then, of a sudden, his tense nerves snapped. The terrific ‘strain put upon them by ‘this quiet game had become too great. He sprang to his feet and stood swaying, marticulate a moment, before he found voice: Then: ‘You—you blackmaiter!”’ he cried husk- ily, leaning across the table toward the serene station-master. ‘‘ You dirty, sly blackmailer! You can’t threaten me! You can’t chase me out of office! You never found any—you haven’t got a—a—” ‘‘ Why, Noah!” David interrupted, his face a perfect study in surprise ‘and wonder- ment. ‘‘ What in tarnation’s got-into you? You do act as if you’re guilty o’ somethin’ yerself. Dured if you don’t!” Spigot dropped back into his chair, slumping down in it, his haggard face buried in his shakmg hands. “Oh, my God!” he groaned. “Why, you're jest a wreck, Noab,” COUMIUC AOOLK Colin