Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

THIEVES’ At one of the tables half a dozen young fellows were engaged in a game of Kelly pool. Two of them were quar- reling vituperatively. An older man, paunchy and un- _ shaven, had reversed his cue threaten- ingly. “Tl do a stretch any time just for the fun of socking you—” “ Yes, you will, you The young gangster, already disfig- ured by a red scar that ran the length of his Semitic features, was equally adept in profanity, and with a signifi- cant gesture he unbuttoned his coat. ‘“ Aw,” complained the custodian of the leathern bottle containing the num- bered pills that, when taken out furtive- 99 ly, served to identify for each player his ball—‘‘ aw, drop it. Hit each other whenever you feel like it, but don’t make so much racket. I got a head- ache.” “How about letting me in this game?” asked Barry. The Kelly-pool players, who had been waiting half uneasily, half hope- fully for the development of the in- sulting conversation of the two who quarreled, all stared at Barry. They could have been no more resentful if the scene had been a Fifth Avenue club and Barry some down-and-out wretch who had sneaked past the doorman. Finally the bottle shaker rolled «a black pill along the green cloth of the table in Barry’s direction and growled: “Ten cents for every ball killed; a jitney for scratches.” As he slid out of his coat and looked about for a nail on which to hang it, Barry wondered why some of the other players, two or three of them, were such unorthodox pool players as to continue to wear their coats. He won- dered what those coats concealed. Pool was a kind of passion with him, and after he had found a fairly satis- factory cue in one of the racks in the shadows he proceeded to pocket balls and collect dimes from the players with a flourishing pride in his skill that was MARKET. 615 successful in silencing all conversation in the game whenever his turn came. Some instinct warned Barry that the paunchy, unshaven player was more actively hostile to him than the others. As he prepared to shoot, the paunchy one usually managed to snort, or with assumed carelessness to drop the butt of his cue to the floor, or in some other way distract Barry’s attention. Twice in succession Barry collected the pot by killing his own ball early, and each time the paunchy one, speak- ing out of the corner of a flaccid mouth, remarked foully about sharks who came where they were not wanted. The black eight ball was lying close to the long rail partially in the shelter of the blue-striped ten ball when Bar- ry’s next turn came. With a cushion shot Barry smacked the eight ball fair- ly so that it in turn hit the ten ball, causing it to roll swiftly across the table and drop into the side pocket. The paunchy one slammed his pool cue down on the floor in a sudden out- burst of rage. “You saw my ball when it came out of the bottle, didn’t you? I’ve a good mind to crown you with this cue, you 3 The outburst of profanity with which he then filled the air sickened Barry. He heard names applied to himself that in any corner of America mean fight; and he saw the paunchy one’s dirty hand reaching clawlike to pick up one of the balls on the table. “JT must be quick,” thought Barry, and took two short steps and swung his left fist overhand. He was distinctly conscious of his knuckles against the bristly chin and the yellow teeth of the cursing player. The paunchy one went back on his heels and dropped flat, his head strik- ing a shallow brass cuspidor so that it gave forth a sound like the crash of muted cymbals. “Nine, ten, and out,” said a strange voice at Barry’s elbow. “ Fellow, you can sock. Let me manage you and COPMIC OOO KS