Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

614 He hoped that he had the appearance of one who belonged in such an en- vironment. Three of the pool tables were being played on by groups of Nick the Grik’s friends and patrons. Truncated pyra- mids of yellow light illumined the green cloth of these tables, the pool balls, and now and again the face of some player who bent from the outer shadows in order to make a shot. There was a reckless, hard selfish- ness in those faces that made Barry wonder what the minds they masked would think if his errand in the place was betrayed to them. Barry had a vague sort of an idea that if he walked in and wrote his name on a slate, as he did at his club, that he would get an opponent for a game and so blend himself into the sinister background of the establish- ment. But there was no slate, only a pockmarked man who glared at him in a truculent manner from behind a shabby glass case of cigars. Behind that pockmarked man’s head on the wall Barry noticed some half- tone pictures from an “art” maga- zine. They were not pictures of men. “ Hey, buddy,” began Barry, “I'd like to shoot a game of pool. Can I find a game here?” The pockmarked man continued to chew gum while he studied Barry in a fashion much more thorough than Barry had studied Second Avenue be- fore he invaded it. “What’s the idea?” demanded the pockmarked man. “Gonna write up the place as a den of sin in one of the tablerds °” “‘Tablerds?” repeated Barry in be- wilderment. “ Sure, tablerds. . Johnny the Nutmeg Grater tapped his knuckles on a miniature pink news- paper that was spread beneath his el- bows on top of the cigar case. “T get you,” acknowledged Barry, with a grin. “ The tabloids.” “ Ain’t that what I said? This here 99 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. paper’s been giving pool rooms the raspberry for a week.” Barry was not eager to give offense to one who seemed to be in authority in this place, and he hastened to agree that “ tabloid ” was precisely the word Johnny had used. “ You see,” he explained, “ I’ve not been around New York long enough to know many people. I get kind of Ione-| some. Thought a little pool shooting might be good stuff for me. I’m not a reporter. Kind of wish I was. But what about a game?” “ Ast one of them guys against the wall.” Johnny the Nutmeg Grater dropped his eyes to the pages of the tabloid newspaper and resumed his gum chew- ing. Barry wondered if this uncouth city savage could be Nick Euthopopo- lis, but without seeking an immediate answer he turned to see if he could find a partner, or rather an opponent, and he succeeded. Barry sensed as clearly as if he had been told that he was in a hostile at- mosphere. Some way he had aroused the animosity of these pool room habitués. His hackles rose as do those of a strange Airedale introduced into a kennel of chows. He began to wonder if he had not blundered in walking into the pool room without a better plan. After all, his purpose was to make a contact with a person named Nick Euthopopolis. He might have achieved that meeting by employing a little finesse. He could have pretended to be selling books, or pool room supplies. He was conscious of cold eyes that gleamed at him through the haze of cigarette smoke. “Get on the other fellow’s tail first,” his chief had often cautioned him in France. “Don’t wait to be shot at. Jump in and start the trouble.” It had been a good recipe for re- maining alive in 1918. Probably, he thought, it would be as sound nine years after. EOPMICLOOO (F@