Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

TWO WEEKS’ NOTICE. 61 forgot me, I guess. So you're off to Cali- fornia for a whole year!” Smith’s eyes clouded a little. ‘ Doctor’s orders,” he said gruffly. ‘‘ Complete rest. Do nothing, say nothing, think nothing, that’s what it amounts to. And, confound him,. he’s cut off my smoking, too! Here, have a cigar, Caspar, take ’em all—I can’t use ’em!”’ “Why, Johnny, you—you’re a lucky man!” Lansing tried to make his voice ring with conviction, ‘‘A year in California! No work. No worry. Lie in bed as long as you like. No time clock to punch. Noth- ing, you lucky- dog!” “You damn old liar!” Smith snapped. ‘* Caspar, I put the best of my life into this business, and you know it. Remember the time we had the little loft down on Marginal Street and our total capital was two hun- dred and twenty-five dollars? Remember that? And how you used to keep the books and pack orders and boss the shop while I was out trying to collect enough to pay your wages? I tell you, boy, we hustled in those days, eh? And it was fun! It’s al- ways been fun for me, Caspar—” “It’s been pretty good fun for me, too,” Lansing acknowledged, rubbing his bald head thoughtfully. “Of course it has! Fun! Why not? Haven’t we built up something? Haven't we had the fun of making it grow—making a howling success of it? Haven’t we both put our best years into it until it’s got to be our life interest? Now I’ve got to get out because of a couple of old women doc- tors and a fool wife. But you! You lucky stiff, you can keep on here, keep up the good work! Oh, you lucky old dog!”’ John Smith clasped Lansing’s hand hard and turned away without more ado, unable to go on with his farewell. And Lansing watched him out of the office, rubbing his bald head thoughtfully with that soothing, circular motion he used to calm a perturbed mind. “ Poor old Johnny!” he murmured. “ He hates to quit! So would I! Yes, sir, so would I. Thank God I’m not important enough for that!” Miss Lee coated and hatted and ready to go home, her hand holding a bundle of belated letters which she would mail at the chute in the hall, paused at his desk to drop one of her missives where it would meet his eye. It was the curt note Bird had dictated that morning. II, JoHN SmitTH’s troubles had begun with a dish of lobster salad. He ate the salad at the house of his married daughter in Englewood late one evening, and when he drove his wife home he was looking very thoughtful. He looked even more thought- ful: and said no more than was absolutely necessary when he departed for the Eureka offices at eight thirty next morning. In the. middle of the morning and during a conference with Amos Bird, John Smith fainted dead away in his chair from acute. indigestion. Bird made an occasion of the incident, speeding messengers for glasses of water, telephoning to doctors, summoning a luxurious private ambulance, dispatching a warning message to Mrs. Smith, doing everything spectacular and efficient he could think of. Next day John Smith insisted on returning to work against the doctor’s advice. He caught a chill and developed a heavy cold from overexertion and was sent home in the ambulance, swearing like a pirate at Amos Bird. Three specialists, much more noted and expensive than the first, were summoned to his bedside. They discovered heart mur- murs and other alarming symptoms of an overdriven, breaking-down human machine and with the aid of John Smith’s wife, who had been jealous of his office and work all her married life, finally banished him to California. | John Smith occupied the rear seat of his big touring car on a sunny morning some nine months after his resignation and ban- ishment. The car had been parked at one side of a suburban boulevard. Jenks, his stocky little chauffeur, lounged over a brown paper cigarette in front. The morning was fine and the California sun blazed down. Nevertheless, John Smith wore a light overcoat and round his neck a silken muffler was wrapped. He hated the coat and despised the muffier and dared Eomichooks7co