Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

By ERIC D. WALROND zs LD TIMER!” he shouted. Timer! A word with you!” Santiago did not hear him, or, if he did, showed no signs of it. He was walking down the prado —that strip of macaroni stone which, like a flame of blue flint spawning in the spine of a flying fish, divided the fingers of Cristobal and Aspin- wall. It was early in the morning. The com- missary on the edge of the American border was just opening its doors. Opposite, orbs of variegated light danced on the efferves- cent surface of Limon Bay. Near the sea wall and back of the rail- road station early traders from the costal provinces had begun to unload their-hemely cargoes. San Andreans, Arrouwacks, Cay- “ Old man Islanders, Caribs, Cape Verdians, half- breeds, squaws, squat, brown, marionette- like, out of their deeply laden cayukas and sloops bartered granadillas and golden ap- ples; Hacya and Mora, sea eggs and cimi- toes, shaddocks, and ‘‘ fat pork,” sowersops, papaws, cashews, mullets— mullets and mackerels and shining dolphins that were a mixture of gold and alabaster white. Crowd- ing around the sea wall were obstreperous Creoles of noble jefes arguing, buying. On such a canvas Santiago gazed, un- mindful of the United States marine run- ning behind him, breathlessly waving and shouting: “Old Timer! I say, Old Timer—”’ “Old Timer — say — just a -second.” Again came the call. 628