Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

THE BULLY OF The road took him past his plantation and arrived eventually at a cluster of weather- beaten buildings, on the steps of which loaf- ers sprawled. These came to life as the roadster, with its escort, came to a stop before one of the smaller buildings. Grins illuminated their sun-reddened faces as the motor cop led the pale Northerner into the building. Another red-faced individual with small, close-set, blue eyes sat at a flat desk in a large room. His feet were on the desk, but he withdrew them and spat into the spittoon beside him as the officer and Ted- dy appeared. Loafers gathered in the door- way behind. “What yo’ got hyuh, Tim?” asked the man behind the desk. ‘Speedin’ case, jedge. Caught him burnin’ up th’ road "bout a mile down.” “T was only going thirty-six,” Teddy sputtered. The man behind the desk squinted up at him. “Speak when yo’re spoken to!” he snapped. “ But—” ‘“Shet up! So yo’ was breakin’ our speed laws, eh?” “The speed law here, so this officer tells me, is thirty-five an hour, your honor. I was in a hurry to get back to my farm— I’ve just bought the Hendricks place. And it seems to me that, inasmuch as I’m going to be a permanent resident here in Arcadia, you might go a little easy on me for my first offense. I was only doing thirty-six.” The judge spat sharply into the spittoon. He picked up a pencil. “‘What’s yo’ name?” “ Theodore Armbister.”’ “* What’s yo’ age?” “ Twenty-seven.’ *‘ Ever pinched befo’?” *¢ Never,” said Teddy. ‘‘1’m goin’ to make an example of yo’,” said the judge. ‘I’m goin’ to fine you twenty-five dollars and costs; that brings the total to thirty-seven fifty. Got it on yo’?” “ T think it’s a pretty rotten way to treat a man,” Teddy blazed, “ who’s just come into this State and—”’ BISCAYNE BAY. 509 >»? “Tf you talk back to me jest once mo’, the judge interrupted him, “ I’m going to fine yo’ fo’ contempt! Pay up and shet up!” Teddy Armbister shut up and paid up. He returned, smoldering, to his roadster. He had heard of Jersey justice, but this was his first contact with the Florida kind. He would learn that he had undergone a typical experience; that any Northerner, ar- rested by a cracker policeman and brought before a cracker judge, has but one alter- native: to grin and bear it. He stopped at the Arcadia grocery store for provisions, then drove on to his bunga- low, which he now gave a thorough exami- nation. It consisted of a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, two bedrooms and a bathroom, all of which were partly fur- nished. There was, at least, enough furni- ture in them for his present needs. The sun was setting when he went out- side again, and in his enjoyment of the Florida evening he almost forgot his griev- ance against cracker justice. Red and gold and silver clouds were piled up in castle formation above the jungle on the other side of the river. Afar off he heard the call of an oriole. Palm trees—his own palm trees—whispered in the evening breeze. It was a soft, soothing breeze, fragrant of the ocean and blossoming orange trees. All in all, he decided, he might have trav- eled farther and fared worse. He was, at last, going to live. He had his place in the sun. He would become, in due time, a power to contend with in the grapefruit and tomato world. And it was something of a thrill for Teddy Armbister to realize that he had his feet on the ground—his own ground. He owned his own home, and from this land he would wrest his livelihood! He walked down the drive toward the highway, studying the fields on either side with an enthusiastic if untrained eye. Where the drive met the road he was greeted by a man leading a bay horse that limped slightly in the off forefoot. The stranger with the horse was an old man with keen eyes, curly white hair and skin the color of water-soaked leather. GOMIE DOOKS (E)