Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

ROLL YOUR OWN. was beginning to understand, he sensed; she who had loved him so dearly now had learned to hate him! CHAPTER XII. FUNDS AND INVESTMENT. HE young man with the persuasive manner, and the highly polished hair —James had noted him many times, posing in the show window—was just open- ing his automobile agency for the day when Mr. Cranning appeared. The young man smiled benignly, too; for business rarely rushed in so early Monday morning, and James bore every earmark of a gentleman who was bent on business. Nor had he of the highly polished hair ever seen a man sell himself a car in so breath-takingly expeditious a. fashion! Young Mr. Cranning merely pointed at the gray touring model across the store, and said: “'That’s your Cyclone Six, isn’t it?” et 67 “ How much?” asked James. ‘“‘ Nineteen-ninety, including freight and tax,”’ replied the salesman, for where brisk- ness demanded it he could be as brisk as any man. “ All right, I want it,” said Mr. Cran- ning. “Fine!” said he of the hair, and took an important-looking little notebook from his pocket, and consulted it. “ Now, let’s see. I guess I can give you a pretty good delivery on one of those. How’d three weeks from Wednesday do? I can’t prom- ise, but I think—” “ Three weeks from what?” James barked. “I can’t wait for any delivery. I want that car standing over there. I'll come in for it this afternoon.” cc But” “Tt’s a cash sale, of course. Well? Car’s in running order, isn’t it?” The other regarded him keenly. was intelligent, despite his hair. “So far as that goes, she’s better asap absolutely new,” he said. ‘‘ She’s done six or seven hundred miles, demonstrating and one thing and another, and she’s just run He 419 in nice. But that’s our sample of the mod- el, and—” ‘“Where’s your uptown agency?” Cran- ning asked, as he started for the door. ‘Hold on!” beamed the other. ‘ You don’t have to go to our other branch, sir. I can get another one of these in a day or two, if you’re really rushed for a car. What time would you like to call for her? I'll have her rubbed down, and fresh grease and oil put in.” Just then the lightning buyer was ex- amining the vehicle with keen, fevered eyes. Yes, down to the smallest detail it was the duplicate of the bedeviled collec- tion of machinery that he had borrowed— paint, upholstery, tires, top, and every- thing. He jerked out his pocket check book, and scribbled rapidly. ‘““Half past three; maybe earlier,” he said. ‘‘ One hundred do for the deposit? All right. There you are!”’ Long after he had vanished, the young man stood near the door of his establish- ment, gazing expectantly up and down the street. He had been in that store for five years now, and nothing like this had ever hap- pened before. Even after half an hour of uninterrupted solitude, he still gazed, for the hunch persisted that this was to be his one great day in the automobile business. James was conscious of at least a little relief. All the way down in the train a new and ghastly dread had haunted him, gib- bering its way back and forth in his troubled brain: the very last car of that particular style would have been sold by every one of the company’s agents within fifty miles of New York! Well, that bug- aboo hadn’t materialized. Perhaps none of the rest of them would amount to much. Perhaps, James reflected bitterly, was right! He reached his trim little office, nodded to his trim little stenographer, and passed to the small pile of mail in his private sanctum. There was nothing of import- ance. Some two minutes he sat with hand resting on the telephone, debating whether to call up the hospital, and ask tidings of Mannering. He dared not do it! COPMIC LOOKS Sem te | na Mir, te t A Laid fete 4 * mts | ma hie