Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

fr@e@ee @ Se oh ~ ee ~ -~~ —s ow = i ee op . = 456 He cooled down slowly by compelling himself to cool down. He had always been hasty at drawing conclusions. This time he would let matters stand until he reached San Blas—the “ first way port.’’ Her ex- planation might be sufficient. At all events, he would share the message with no one aboard. ‘ And at this point in his cogitations the powerful spark of. KPH began hammering in his ears again. Donn Riley tapped his key experiment- ally. A fat, lavender-blue spark was spat between the brass points of the gigantic ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S.. MAGAZINE. Marconi emergency coil. He stopped and listened again, breathing rapidly. KPH was still after him, pausing every few seconds. Finally he sent a second mes- sage broadcast into the air: CAPTAIN Murpock, S. S. Barracouda, at sea. Naval authorities port of San Francisco de- mand to know your whereabouts. Advise instantly. . There was no signature. Donn Riley, composing himself with a great effort, dropped his fingers to the key. (To be continued NEXT WEEK.) [. E’S liver growed,” said Mom Hef- felfinger, whose waist, to quote George Meredith, ‘“ was dimly de- fined by her apron string.” “Liver growed,” she echoed heavily. The sallow, little boy, whose disease was so diagnosed, drew a shaking breath. He felt that death was very near, for Mom Heffelfinger was the diagnostician of South Hebron, and her word was authoritative. Had she not said that Jim Spinny had the apnoma (falling-off disease), and had not Jim fallen off until Pete Trimmer said there was ‘“ nossing more to embalm still zan skin and bone’’? Yes! “What for doctoring would youse give, still?” asked Mrs. Hollinger, the mother of the invalid. ‘, | Katharine Haviland ne yak or — =~ eee PALLY ——_— —=S== — hy “Powwow,” replied Mom Heffelfinger; “powwow him good, once.” She looked sternly on the invalid, who cowered. Her dignity was so large that she was awe- inspiring. ° ‘Wear flannels on him yet,” she added. Little Stallman Hollinger cowered still lower, the eyes of the diagnostician were searching. He felt that she could see the small, green apples in his small Dutch stomach, and his conscience was very heavy. He realized that when one was liver growed, one passed away, still; and that, passing away, there was no hope for Heaven, when one’s stomach and con- science held green and stolen apples. Two large tears rolled down his putty- colored cheeks. His mother, seeing them, was as upset as her flat and emotionless nature could be. comiclooolks (C(O)