Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

THE BULLY OF mately thirty-four years old, he’s a good buy—if you’re in the horse meat business and can get him dirt cheap—and don’t object to selling your customers tough horse meat.” Teddy laughed, but she didn’t join him. She uncoiled her whip and sent the lash cracking above the army of pigs; then she strode off down the road with the grace of a young goddess. it was significant that Mr. Johnston said nothing until flaming youth was well beyond earshot. Then, in a small, shrill, angry voice he proclaimed: Cats.a he!” “T didn’t want him, anyhow,” Teddy soothed him. ‘“ Don’t be sore at Miss Woodstock.” He, himself, was willing to feel quite charitable about Miss Woodstock. She had come into his life as no other girl had done before. He liked the way she bristled, liked the defiance in her eyes. There was an independence about her that appealed to him. ‘“T ain’t sore at her,” growled Mr. John- ston, “even if she did go a mile out of her way to spoil a sale for me. And let me warn you, young feller, that that gal is highly deceivin’ to the naked eye. She ain’t nothin’ but thorns and briers and cus- sedness. There ain’t a gentle spot in her. You think she’s jest got through doin’ yo’ a good turn. She wa’n’t a-tall. She was goin’ a mile out of her way to do a bad turn. And I’m the goat!” “Oh, so’s your old horse!” Teddy said, indignantly. And Mr. Johnston gazed at him thoughtfully. “Yes, suh,” he agreed, ‘‘ most men feel that way when they first clamp eyes on that little hellion. She’s purty and cute and she’s got big brown eyes and a elegant little figure and yo’ say to yo’se’f, ‘ My, ain’t she a little darlin’. An’ yo imag- ine yo’se’f cuddlin’ her up in yo’ big, strong arms. “T’m sayin’: Jest wait till yo’ know her. If she had a daddy or a mammy, mebbe she’d be a tol’able nice gal, but she lives — down yonder all alone, raisin’ them hogs— and makin’ life a misery fo’ everybody in these yuh parts. Do yo’ s’pose the folks BISCAYNE BAY. 511 yuh in Arcadia-on-Ooglagoochee call her th’ bully o’ Biscayne Bay ’cause she’s sweet and nice like she looks?”’ “Do they call her that?” Teddy gasped. ‘“T’m tellin’ yo’, Mr. Armbister.”’ “Why?” the Northerner demanded. “You do yo’ own findin’ out,” said Mr. Johnston, unpleasantly. He picked up his horse’s bridle, and started off up the road. VI. Lone after Mr. Johnston had vanished into the purple twilight, Teddy Armbister stood at the gate and gazed dreamily off down the road. He was trying to recon- cile the girl with the blacksnake whip with the girl Mr. Johnston had vaguely but sin- isterly pictured. The bully of Biscayne Bay! His curiosity grew as he picked his way along the driveway to his bungalow, and it continued to grow as he prepared and ate his supper. He decided to call on her. After all, she was a neighbor, and it would be wise to establish a friendly footing with a girl whose reputation was so formidable. In his heart, Teddy did not believe a word Mr. Johnston had told him. Teddy prided himself not a little on his ability .to judge human nature, and his snap judg- ment of Miss Woodstock had been entirely favorable. She was, he was certain, a splendid girl with a great deal of character and personality. Teddy started his car and drove slowly down the road in the direction she had tak- en. His headlights picked out presently a neat white sign bearing the single word Woodstock. He turned into the sandy lane up which the sign pointed; drove — rows of cabbage palms. The lane brought him at length to a clearing at the far end of which stood a small white cottage. | Teddy switched off his lights, and start- ed toward the cottage afoot. Miss Wood- stock had evidently spent a great deal of time improving her property. Near the house was a grove of orange and grapefruit trees, which a rising moon informed him were bearing. There was a pergola near the well upon which bougain- DOOKS comic (e()