Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

432 chum into the dining-room looking very thoughtful. But Honest John seized his daughter Fancy by the arm and drew her into the hotel office. Honest John was breathing as if he had been running. He was squat and broad- . shouldered and thick-set. His eyes were brown, a peculiar hard brown like the mar- bles small boys used to call ‘‘ crock’ys,”’ and the brows above them scowled. His daughter scowled back at him, and her eyes were brown, with the same peculiar glaze as her father’s. On closer inspection her prettiness was of a surface sort. ' ‘““T told you to cut that out,” Honest John murmured, keeping his voice careful- ly lowered against eavesdropping. “I ewon’t have you messing up with that pink- eyed he dancing teacher, and you know it.”’ “Ts that so?” Fancy Burke inquired with acid sweetness. ‘‘ Well, Sid Wilcox is the swellest fellow ever stopped in your old joint. If you had more like him—”’ ‘Yah, if I had more like him I’d go broke. I don’t want any more like him— and I don’t want him round, and I told him so. He’s going, and he ain’t coming back. You drop him or I'll send you up in the timber to your grandmother, you hear me?” | Fancy shrugged with a fine indifference. “ That’s flat,’ Burke went on. ‘“ Last time I’ll warn you, too. If you got to have aman, pick a man. Pick somebody that talks and acts like a man; somebody that can earn enough money to look after a ri.” . ‘“ Pick a red-necked logger, I suppose! That’s what you’d like to see me tied up to for life. No thanks.” ‘“' You could do a whole sight worse than 2. logger, I'll tell you that, my girl!” “Oh, could I? Thanks so much for your information.” | Fancy moved haughtily toward the din- ing-room, and her father trundled slowly after her. During the meal he kept a hard eye on Fancy. But Fancy apparently had heeded his threat to send her to a grandmother’s chaperonage back in the big timber, for she, was ignoring Sid Wilcox, the sleek ‘ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. young dancing teacher, and devoting her smiles and a lively conversation to Bruce Ray, whose mahogany-hued face had turned crimson with pleasure. Wally New- ell continued to look thoughtful, and Sid Wilcox openly sulked. During the afternoon Micky, the dirty- faced boy mechanic, brought a miracle to pass. It deserved to rank almost with the raising of the dead. The bow-legged, pug- nosed little ruin that Honest John called an automobile, rolled out of the garage under its own power for the inspection of the two friends. A suspicious man would have thought it unnecessarily noisy, but neither Wally Newell nor Bruce Ray was suspicious. The thing could go, and that was all they thought about. . They climbed in solemnly and were trundled up and down the road: before the hotel with Micky as chauffeur. They pro- nounced themselves satisfied, and paid to Honest John five hundreA hard-earned dollars. Then Honest John generously of- fered to return their car to his shed, charg- ing only a dollar a day for garage rent until they felt like moving it away. “T figure well hit out of here to-mor- row mornin’,” Wally announced joyously. ‘‘ Head for the mountains, eh, old-timer? Trout are bitin’ fine these days. And, boy, we got the whole blessed United States for ours to play around in. If this don’t beat rustlin’ logs for old man Morris, I’m a Chinaman!” Bruce Ray hesitated. When he spoke there was something un- usual in his manner; something furtive and secretive and guilty. “Now, Wally,” he expostulated, ‘“witat’s the need of rushing this job? We're going to rest up, ain’t we? Wellf I say, let us'laze along here a few days, in a. swell hotel where we can improve our- selves learning how swell peopie act. Re- member we got money, now, Wally, and there ain’t no sense herding off by our- selves. A few days won’t hurt.” Newell agreed generously. ‘“°S’ all nght if you want to,” he said. “Me, I don’t care a hoot. Stay here as long ’s you hike.” But secretly Newell was worried. , comichDaks.conr