Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

542 “ Thish the place—lemme down, soldier!” Tremanner swung the door open, reveal- ing a couple of soldiers and a sergeant grouped around a party in the uniform of a brigadier general, cap over his eyes. The soldiers had evidently been carrying him and he was unmistakably and gloriously drunk. The sergeant spoke up. “Drunk as a lord,” he said. “’Ad a blurry orful time gettin’ ’im ’ere But this is where ’e ’ad to come, ’e says. Found ’im on the road to Camberham.”’ He lowered his voice, respectfully. ‘A bloomin’ general, too. ’E has been cursin’ us out fit to blind you all the way—”’ “Let’s go, you poor slob,” the general hiccoughed. ‘‘ Shake a leg before I paste _ you in the eye. I’m on my way to see my old side kick, Dick Harmon.” The voice was unmistakable. ‘“ Well, I'll be darned!” Harmon gasped. “If it isn’t Bob—” But Tremanner’s kick in the shins stopped the outburst in time. The English- man had recognized Tuesday’s voice, even as a brigadier general, but he had also rec- ognized the sergeant’s rasping tones, and lowered the candle quickly. It was Sergeant Narley. “All right, sergeant,’ Tremanner said hurriedly. “ You may leave him there for awhile. We'll take the general in when he cools off. The lights inside will be liable to excite him.” “Excite ’im,” Narley snorted as he marched his detail down the path. “ Gawd blimy! ’E’s no shy violet now or I'll go to ’ell, Excite ’im! ’e sez.” CHAPTER XIV. IN THE STUDIO. UESDAY sat on the edge of a couch ag in Harmon’s bedroom the next morn- ing and cooled his burning throat with copious drafts of cold water. Harmon and Tremanner stood over the crestfallen sol- dier of misfortune, in the réle of judge and jury. ‘“‘ What’s that?” Tuesday asked, pointing to a gold-braided cap. “Yours,” Harmon informed him coldly. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Last night you were a general. Where did you get it?” Tuesday shook his head. “It’s a long story, Dick. Hanged if I know where I got it unless it was after the ball at the Ritz in London.” “The Ritz! What were you doing there?” Tuesday took another drink of water. ‘Well, you see it was this way. I got feel- in’ pretty good after you left an’ went to town an’ what with one bar an’ another things got kind of hazy. But I wasn’t no general when the guy in white wig an’ short pants tock my hat at the door. I was a Australian colonel—”’ “An Australian colonel,’ Harmon nod- ded. “It gets better right along.” ‘“T lost my hat, darn it,” Tuesday insist- ed, “in the lunchroom—a dump run by a guy named Lyons. I had to get one so I grabbed along the line an’ the Australian one fitted me. Then I followed a gang of fellows into the Ritz, where they was a dance goin’ on, an’ then some dame in a diamond thing-a-majig on her head sed I insulted her, an’ they give me the rush. That was where I won the outfit I was wearin’. It was over a chair, an’ a guy can’t be goin’ around without an over- coat.” He sighed profoundly. ‘“So that’s why them soldiers was givin’ me the high sign. I sure bawled that ser- geant out an’ he took it like a baby, stand- in’ around an’ salutin’ every time I opened my mouth. He carried my cap part of the time. We'd ’a’ been here sooner only he had to keep fetchin’ his bonnet that I was throwin’ out the window of the taxi. Well, it sure was a lesson to me about drink.” “Tt sure would have been if he had taken a good look at you in the light,” Harmon said grimly. ‘“ Of all the sergeants in the army you had to pick on him. Do you know who it was?” ‘““Couldn’t see him very well. a nice, respectful guy, anyway.” “Sure. It was Sergeant Narley.” ‘* Holy Moses!” Tuesday groaned. “ That guy! Now, what am I gonna do, for the luvva Pete? I can’t wear them duds back to camp.” a2 Kind of Eomichooks V’m cured.