Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

TWO into the Four Deuces Bar. He had a suit case in one hand. Under his belt he carried a nasty package of liquor. Watts’s eyes were mean and sullen. ‘“I'm leavin’ on the Sacramento boat at midnight,” the political boss announced. “Two Step’s goin’ with me. Where’s she at, Con?” Milroy cast his eyes about the room. heavy with the smoke and fumes of a Bar- baryv night. The musicians were playing a rollicking tune, and the women who enter- tained at the Four Deuces Bar were danc- ing with the customers. But nowhere among the pack of revelers could Milroy see the shining black hair and Spanish comb of Two Step Lou. ‘““ Guess she’s upstairs, Terry,” he said. “If she ain’t in her room, try the Pro- fessor’s. “All right, Con. So long, an’ Ill see you in a couple of weeks.” Watts drew the dive keeper close. ‘‘ She may raise a little hell about leavin’; so I'll just go out that back way an’ save havin’ any fights with her friends out here. An’ remember, Con, the bay's as good a place for the Pro- fessor as any. Savvy?” Watts climbed the narrow stairs and sought Two Step Lou. He found her, as Milroy had suggested, in the small room where the last of the Farnsworths lived among his Lares and Penates. She was sitting on the cot, her handsome features softened in a smile of pity and affection, while the Professor recited the Rubalyat. He always recited it when he felt particular- lv remorseful and sore of heart. It seemed to cheer him up; and the dance hall girl, knowing this, would wait patiently through to the end. But the Rubaiyat was not finished this time. It was stopped in mid-stanza as Watts entered and gruffly bade the last of the Farnsworths to shut his mouth. “Lou, we’ve got an hour to catch the boat,” he said. ‘‘ Any clothes you want to take along you can put in this grip.” Fire blazed in the woman’s eyes. Her face went suddenly pale as she faced the politician. Instead of retreating before him, she stepped up until they were standing eye to eye. 8 A STEP LOU AND THE PROFESSOR. 913 “What do you mean, Terry Watts? What boat?” ‘‘ Oh, ain’t Con told you?” He attempted an affable smile. ‘‘ Why, I thought you knew all about it, Lou. I’m goin’ campin’ in the mountains for a couple of weeks, an’ I picked you as the best little campin’ pal in Pacific Street. It’l]—it—”’ Watts stammered, and then halted under the white glare of Two Step Lou’s fierce hate. She didn’t speak a word—just stood there, and looked her scom and rage, and infinite contempt. For an instant he was cowed. Then he became livid with anger. ‘“ Say, you little brat, don’t try any stuff like that on me,” Watts growled. “I don’t care 1f you like it or not. You’re comin’ with me, an’ that’s settled.” He gripped her roughly by the arm—a bare, white arm, soft and round, and subtly alluring. His mouth twisted in a cruel snarl as he waited, alert and ready, for the storm that was bound to come. Then the last of the Farnsworths, his kindly old eyes wide and scared, taid a restraining hand on Watts’s powerful wrist. “If your honor please,” he began, “‘ this is No proper way of treating a—”’ That was all. Watts released Two Step Lou and sent a heavy fist crashing into the oid man’s face. For the second time the last of the Farnsworths struck the floor. There was a groan. Blood began trickling from his nose. A sharp cry that was more a gasp came from Two Step Lou. Her eyes were flames of yellow fire as she stepped quickly back, and reached into the bosom of her gown. Out shot her hand;and the knife, gleaming dully in the gaslight, darted forward straight for the politician’s breast. He was taken off his guard. Three times the knife struck home, and once it reached his heart. Orestes’s Furies, of which the Professor had sometimes spoken, were no more raging, and vengeful than Two Step Lou that night. Watts slipped quietly to the floor, set- tled there like a half-filled sack of grain, and then lay motionless and quiet with the knife stuck almost comically in his chest. The room was suddenly still. Downstairs the fiddle squeaked towards a merry crescendo. The piano tinkled on. The An CO ‘lOOOIK