Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

514 A tall and surprisingly thin man, who looked as if he might once have been quite portly, but had been reduced to his present slimness by the melting humidity, was doz- ing in a comer of the bench that was re- served for waiting passengers. The impression of erstwhile portliness — was, possibly, occasioned by his garments, which were much too large for him, clothing him more after the manner of drapery than of a shirt and trousers. He was smooth- shaven—or, at least, he probably had been so several days before; and his prominent features—the long, hooked nose, the wide, thick-lipped mouth, the deep-set eyes, with their bushy overhanging brows, the rather loose skin of his cheeks—all, somehow, fur- thered the impression that he had at one time carried thrice his present weight. At Bert’s entrance he opened his eyes, but made no other movement to show that he was aware of the newcomer’s presence. “ Hello,” said Bert, standing before him. “ Are you the station-master?” Without moving his body, the man looked Bert over from head to foot. His scrutiny was thorough and rather specu ave: Bert flushed under it. ‘“T aim to be,” he drawled. ‘ Why?” “ Well,” Bert replied sarcastically, nettled by what he considered the insolence of the man’s manner and tone, “I thought maybe you were the mayor of this burg; and I’d hate to tell the mayor to get busy and attend to my trunk that’s out there on the platform.” | “IT see,” said the station-master thought- fully. ‘‘A person does hafta be kinder keerful thataway. But I ain’t the mayor.” Bert grunted. ‘So I gather from your previous remarks,” he said dryly. ‘‘ What about my trunk?”’ “What about it?” ““'Yes; what about it!” “It’s your trunk, ain’t it?” “‘ Of course it’s my trunk!” “Well, then,” drawled the man seriously, “ef it’s your triink, you must know a durn sight more about it ’n me.” With which statement he turned his head—which was his first. muscular effort since Bert had entered—and spat with sur- prising force across the room. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Bert did not know whether to become angry or to laugh. Fortunately he decided upon the latter course. But the station- master’s face remained impassive, and if there was a glint of mirth in his eyes, his drooping lids effectively concealed it. “Well, there’s some logic in that,” said Bert. “ But as it happens, I don’t know much more about it than you do. Carson packed it; and all I know is that it’s mine, and that I’d like to have it sent to the hotel. How about that?” | “T reckon you'll git it all right. ain’t no butter in it, is there?” - “‘ Butter! Of course not!” “Well, then,” said the man, pausing to expectorate again, “I reckon it won’t hurt it to stand there in the sun till Amos comes along.” Bert laughed again. Here, he decided, was a species of humankind the like of whom he had never seen before. He won- dered if the entire population were like him. He hoped not. Such humorous boorishness was agreeable only in Small doses. “Tl be much obliged to you if you'll attend to it for me,” he said. ‘“ Have it sent to the Majestic Hotel.” ““T reckon you mean the Palace.” ‘“‘No; the Majestic. I'll put up at the Majestic.” “I reckon you mean the Palace, ” the man repeated. Bert pondered a moment. “ Did they change the name to the Palace?” ‘‘ Not as I know of. The Palace has been the Palace as long as I kin remember.” ‘““You—you mean there isn’t any hotel here called the Majestic?” Bert asked fear- fully. “It’s closed,” responded the other laconi- cally. “ Forever, I reckon.” “TI mean, how long has that hotel been closed?” There “Oh, not long. Only about seven years!” “‘ For—the—love—of—Mike!” gasped Bert. The man raised his brows. “I ain’t got a uncommon curiosity, young feller, but it seems to me that you’re mighty interested in that old Majestic.” There was, indeed, more than curiosity - Origin al | - Ta NOOK IE UT O ® ) TAT _