Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

900 This incident, we fully expect, will take its place along with those which have gone before on the growing list of “ Unsolved Crimes.” Still, it might be interesting to hear Chief Burden’s alibi; each one is bet- ter than the last! : Seriously, it is about time the town should realize that a good Republican does not necessarily make a good, or even a fair, police officer; expert, long- distance training courses notwithstand- ing. Beyond which it is clear that such happenings do not tend to in- crease our highly appreciated summer population. The score to date: A. B. Foskett, emerald ring; Miss Gloria Dunn, gold and enamel locket; Mrs. Dewey, platinum chain; Mr. God- dard, gold cigar lighter; and now Mrs. Bittles, diamond and sapphire neck- lace. It would give the Democrat much pleasure to be able to scratch off some of the above items, and we look to Mr. Burden to make this possible. We are beginning to fear, however, that we shall look in vain! Chief Poley pulled a huge plug of tobacco out of his hip pocket, bit into it viciously. “ Damn skunk!” he rumbled. “ He'll keep on printin’ them lists ev’ry week now ; thinks it’s a dang smart trick, he does! J’d like to—’ Mr. Burden glanced at the massive Colt’s forty-five that lay on the corner of his desk. Finally he reached languidly for the Republican, quite prepared for the weak defense which its editor, Ernie Willets, would, as a matter of form and politics, put up in the chief’s be- half. There it was, to be sure. Good as any, a plea for two more assistants during the summer months. In the winter, it pointed out, Chief Burden was quite capable of enforcing law and order single-handed. But the single aid, Jim Creeper, allowed him during June, July and August, had his hands full with traffic alone, what with that bad corner by the bridge and all. Poley shrugged, mopped his perspir- ing forehead and ‘reached for his of- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ficial tunic. This he grudgingly donned, fastening the top button only. He put on a hip holster and with worn blue cap at a somewhat dejected angle, passed into the sultry heat of an Au- gust morning. As he walked toward the post office, he tried to throw out his jaw with a forbidding belligerence, to ward off, as it were, the gibes that had become his portion since certain unknown crimi- nals had begun playing fast and loose in Green Ridge. As ill luck would have it, Clem Pitts was in the post office and the old guard of hangers-on grinned with expectancy when the two men faced each other. **’Lo, chief,” greeted Clem. “ How’s all the nice little burglars, this morn- in’? You'd oughter have a coopful by this time—way they’re carryin’ on! Hey?” “They’s enough hot air ’round this mornin’ without y’r openin’ y’r face,” Poley told him. “‘ Another thing; you spring any more o’ that trainin’ course business, an’ I'll hev’ ya up f’r libel. Danged if I don’t! I never took one o’ them courses in my life!’ “That so?’ jeered Pitts, as he passed out. He called back: “‘ Then if I was you, by gosh, I would!” Poley choked down the anger that shook him, and scowled hard at those who dawdled near. He secured the morning’s mail and examined it on the spot. A couple of circulars of wanted men, that was all. He then went on to the bridge to see how Jim Creeper was making it with the traffic. “Somebody oughter push Clem Pitts’s teeth down his throat, boss,” Jim told him. “Don’t I know it?” Poley returned bitterly. “It’s gosh darned funny, though,” went on Jim, “that they don’t seem to be no clew in any o’ them cases. Slick as grease, them babies are, I’ll say.” “Trouble is, ain’t no way o’ tellin’ EOMICLOOOKS (C@