Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

OUT OF THE WORLD FOR A WHILE. terminably long time passed, but it was, in fact, only twenty minutes. Miller emerged. He looked at Seagrave and his companion and started up the street. “ Just a minute, Mr. Miller,” the Federal operative said softly. : Miller wheeled about. His eyes were hot with anger. His lips worked nervously. ‘What do you want?” he asked. “Would you mind holding up the front of this building for a while?” the Federal man asked. “I’ve been doing it while I waited for you. Suppose you do it while you wait for me?” “T’m in a hurry,” Miller said. “ T know it, but you'll get over it. It ‘ll be a fine thing for you to get used to a lot of leisure.” “Who are you?” Miller demanded. “You know without asking. All the dis- guises in the world wouldn’t conceal a po- liceman in any shape or form from you.” The operative suddenly dropped his ban- tering air and stepped up to Miller. He ran his hand over Miller’s pockets. “ What’s that for?” Miller cried. “ Thought you might have something on your hip,” the operative said. ‘ Or a gun.” “ Well, what next?” “ Will you keep him company for a few minutes, Mr. Seagrave?” the operative 735 asked. “I want to step inside. Mebbe he won’t care for your company, but make him like it. I won’t be long.” “Tt ‘ll be a pleasure,” Seagrave said. The operative went inside. ‘“You’ve just pulled another bone,” Mil- ler observed. “So?” said Seagrave. “You don’t believe that, do you?” “ Tf I disbelieved everything you said I’d be playing safe,” said Seagrave. ‘‘ Shut up! I don’t like the sound of your voice.” He let his gaze travel down the street as if even looking at Miller were repugnant. Miler, seeing Seagrave’s gaze was averted, watched him out of the corner of his eyes. The venomous look which had been in his eyes before was in them again. He looked as if he would murder Seagrave. “You're the long-lost prodigal, aren’t you?” he sneered. . Seagrave remained unmoved. “ But I don’t see any fatted calf being killed for you,” Miller said. “T wouldn’t enjoy anything more than setting my heel on you,” Seagrave said, looking at him. 7 Miller’s jaw tightened. His thin lips went into a straight, hard line. “You wait,” he said to himself. hand you something for all this.” cc Tl TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK Lv} U U SLAVES TO THE DEAD HERE is nothing pitiful about the dead: In their hard boxes lying stiff and straight, And being driven through the street in state— There is nothing pitiful about the dead. No! It is we Who are their slaves, who need The meed Of pity. Slaves to the dead are you and I Slaves are we all, and shall be—till we die. Mary Carolyn Davies CORMICIOO Sasol =