Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

BUSTER. secure feeling that he was home on time, as he always was, and would soon be tramping through the house to kiss me. I heard the Rolls Rough rattle to rest, the bang of the screen door, a smothered darn as Roy narrowly missed the drain pan I always forgot to put back under the ice box. I calmly turned a page and adjusted the back of my neck for his kiss. None come. He stopped in the kitchen and I heard the slow trickle of the sink tap and the noise of the china cupboard doors opening, then the settling of a saucer on the floor. “There, go to it, old boy,” Roy was say- ing in gentle accents. ‘“ That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” What in the world? Come ‘Roy’s voice again, gentle still, though firm. ‘‘ No, no more, sir. When a guy’s been as dry as you’ve been he oughtn’t to be lapping up no lake right away. Take it easy, feller. There’s more where this come from. Now, trot on in and meet the missus.” I looked up from my magazine, curious. Roy was standing in the doorway, beam- ing like a boy scout that’s just done a good deed, and beside him teetered a puppy with legs like a baby camel I seen once at the zoo and tangled fur the color of the dirt in the back yard. “Introducing Buster,” grinned Roy, with the flourish of a ringmaster showing off the prize elephant. “Roy,” I gasped, “ where did you get that?” “Out back. Almost made hash out of him, coming across lots. Was prospecting for water in an ash heap, poor mutt. His tongue still looks like dried bologna.” “Whose is he?” I inquired with polite interest. “ Ours.” “ Roy McGuire!” I shrieked. mean we’re gonna keep him?” “Do you “Sure. Why not? I thought you liked dogs, hon.” “Yeah, I do. The kind that Mrs. Van Bilkedmore would show at the dog show. But this comedy strip canine— What is he anyhow, Roy—English bull or French poodle or Russian wolfhound or what?” 557 “All American.” “Which makes him plain mutt, I sup- pose.” “ But clever,” put in Roy. “ You ought to see the tricks I had him doing out there. He’d make Houdini look helpless. And what he don’t know we can learn him. Now, have we got any bread or milk, dear?” “We got a loaf of bread I was going to use for a stuffing to-morrow and just enough milk for the cereal in the morning. You know we only get a quart a day, Roy. We ain’t Rockefeller.” “Til eat my cereal dry,” declared my spouse, Magnanimous. “If a horse can do it, I can. Gee, Molly, this poor mutt’s so thin, if he didn’t have hair on him you’d think he was spaghetti.” “No, he ain’t no raving beauty,” I agreed, unenthusiastic. ‘“‘I don’t see what you want him for anyhow.” Roy picked up the pup and planted him protectingly against his shirt front. ‘““ A—a guy always likes some kind of a dog,” he explained wistful. The pup made a pass for Roy’s chin with his panting, pink tongue. “Nix,” laughed Roy, jerking his head back from the affectionate onset. ‘ None of that mush stuff, Buster. At this junction I commenced to realize that he had bestowed no homecoming kiss on the little wife. In fact, he was showing no immediate signs of doing so. “Put him down, Roy,” I ordered, sud- denly snappish. shirt all dirty—the poor mutt,” I added, a little more kindly, even touching his blunt, brown forehead. ‘“ Now I'll get the milk. He can have my share, too.” My magnanimity went as unnoticed as a widow’s mite in the collection plate of a Fifth Avenue church. Roy was tenderly engaged in extracting a burr from Buster’s brown coat. “* Let’s see. kitchen table,” went on Roy, thoughtful. ‘But he’d better have a blanket or some- thing. It’s gonna turn cool to-night. Have we got a blanket he can have, hon?” “Oh, yeah,” I sneered, irritable at Roy’s- turning the whole house upside down for ; cComicbooks That’s all right with the ladies, but it don’t go here.” ‘“He’s getting your good’ He can sleep under the (E)