Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

978 In the center of the stage now was Dor- set with his long ghastly head, and his puny body. Dorset was in the habit of reflecting his master’s mood. McCorkle was tri- umphant and self-satisfied; and so was Dor- set. He had just had a considerable meas- ure of power thrust upon him. He was quite self-satisfied—as was McCorkle. The octoroon who had often bullied him and twisted his weak wrists, was now lying in the depths of ignominy and _ helplessness. Wounded and disarmed he presented no menace to the ordinarily apprehensive Dor- set. The only other sources of danger ex- isted in the two bound prisoners and a frail girl. The closet was securely bolted upon the chatelaine and old Quintilian. Dorset was satisfied. He represented the giant McCorkle. He now was the bandit chief, the conqueror. In fact he understood so well that he was the viceroy in the absence of the king that immediately upon McCorkle’s leaving the room Dorset strutted over to that cathedral chair, and flopped into it. The chair swallowed him. All the girl could see was the long haggard face, the bony forehead, the huge grinning mouth. The solid arm of the chair hid his body, but Jacqueline saw the thin nervous hand placed upon the cowl of a carven monk. Dorset’s mouth—out of all proportion to the narrow face—widened until she saw the clot of blood in the corner—the result of that blow dealt him by his master when on the lugger. The grin widened intermina- bly; the bruised lips pulled across his teeth, until he broke into a chuckle. ‘Parson stays where he’s at!” he was laughing as if to himself. ‘“ That’s what old Mac says! ‘Unless Dorset, who’s a gentleman born, wants to ’ave a bit o’ fun!’ Didn’t you ’ear him say that? Cricky, but that’s a good one! Yuss I am a gentleman —slop me gob!” he cried belligerently turn- ing to the girl, as if he had heard a tinkle of a laugh. She was sitting at the table scarcely an arm’s length across that yellow linen from him. ‘“ A gentleman born, that’s wot! Englishman. Born and bred in Lun- non! Oh, yes, I’ve had these here sherry nightcaps, too—’’ He tossed one off and made an attempt to belch like his master. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Blood came to his head—to his eyes, and to the end of his nose giving him a splotchy, unhealthy appearance. ‘‘ Look here, me gel! You can tell a blood when yer sees one?” “I can, monsieur.” “You can tell a man ’as done a bit of travelin’ in his day?” “That I can most certainly, monsieur.” “Do I look like a rotten ole tramp—as that man lyin’ there?” ‘“‘ By no means, monsieur.” ‘Or like Wing?” he asked hotly. “ By Wing I mean that dodderin’ balmy whose ‘ead keeps swingin’ like this!” He closed. his eyes and wagged his own grinning, hag- gard head. “ And as for McCorkle!” Dor- set shook his fragile grimy fist. ‘“ Pha-ah! Thinks he can swell around here like he was to the manner born—as the sayin’ goes! A big sweatin’ blowsy bargeman! That’s orl he is! We Englishmen you know, go in for blood—ancestors and orl that! You’ve got it. I can see them por- traits up there—every one of ’em has some- thing which you’ve got on your fice, s’help me. And that ole gel in there actin’ as your chaperone—she’s got it! And here comes a ole rozzer like McCorkle wantin’ to grab you! And that ain’t arf of it; he wants to marry you—that’s wot! Won’t be satis- fied, I tell yer, till he can say he’s a Creole! Creole is he? Ph-tht!” He paused as if his weak body had spent itself in this tirade. The bound Cameron glowered with a terrific contempt. The wounded man off there in the corner of the dim room groaned out a series of vitupera- tive caths. The “ ghost ” in the next room was clanking locks, gathering loot. But Jacqueline—so Dorset noticed very definitely —was looking at him with a re- sponsive, a sympathetic fire. ‘‘ Looke ’ere!” Dorset thrust his ghastly head over the splendid linen. “ You tell me—cross yer ’eart! Did you notice a difference between me and them three clods?”’ “ Beyond the shadow of a doubt, mon- sieur!”’ Dorset emitted a sharp quick snarl like a cat spitting. ‘“ Ya-a-ah! I knew it! Yer goin’ to try and come at with DINGS me}. 1.