Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

PROFIT. were in a crowd. Men jostled Wilbur, who stood in front of an elevator. “‘ Let’s go out in the street, Mr. Wilbur,”’ smiled Miss Farley, who had rid herself of the chewing gum by some sleignt-of- hand. “We can talk better.” Wilbur buttoned together his overcoat with a heavy hand. ‘“ [—I’d better go on up, Miss Farley,” he rumbled anxiously. The girl’s smile grew colder. “Oh, I know you got a load of coin, Wilbur,” she said sharply. ‘I ain’t going to lighten it any. Say, just get wise to this earfull: Hang on to those iron boys. Don’t trade ’em for Phoenix stock. It’s a fake. Get that? Keep the dough and let Cawston keep his stock. Beat it! This ain’t the game you’re able to swing. Back to Flint for yours!” Wilbur fingered the umbrella and stared. ‘““T don’t understand, Miss Farley. If the Phoenix stock wasn’t good, I wouldn’t buy it, would I? It ’ll pay me a hundred per cent a year.” ‘““Not it. Cawston’s planning to close the coop. The whole thing’s a frame-up. You’re being played for a sucker!”’ ’ “ Really, Miss Farley! I know what I’m buying. Why, Cawston had ¢o buy it for me on the stock exchange. I saw it quoted on the—the ticker-tape.” His mild, gray eyes were troubled. The girl sighed impatiently. ‘“T didn’t know they made ’em this way any more,” she observed plaintively. “ Say, what’s your first name?” cs Martin. rp) ‘Well, Martin, your middle name in Gink. That stock came outer Cawston’s desk-drawer. He has a pile of it a foot high. That broker feller’s Heim—Caw- ston’s partner. The quot you lamped on the ticker is Pen Steel, not Phoenix mine.” The manufacturer still stared at her. Miss Farley wondered why she took so- much trouble to enlighten him. She de- cided it was’his eyes—he had nice, friendly eyes. “Say, Martin,” she continued forcibly, “you ain’t a Simon-pure simp, even if you. do look like one of the fifty-seven varieties. Don’t you g** “he idea? Cawston’s a fraud. 515 He’s selling you a piece of paper—the Ger- mans would call it a scrap of paper.” ‘“But a man vouched for him at the American Trust Company,” pondered Wil- bur heavily. “Sure — Art Johnson, the bucket-shop prince. He went in and waited for you by the enclosure where the bank officers are. Shot the bull that he was going out to lunch, didn’t he? Said he’d known Cawston five years, didn’t he? They worked that once before. Standin’ room in the American Trust lobby is free. Sure, Art knows Caw- ston. They had a suite of two rooms with- out bath in cold storage up the river once.” Wilbur shook his head perplexedly. “I reckon I know what I’m doing, Miss Farley. A hundred per cent profit a year ain’t to be sneezed at.” His gaze focused slowly on the angry girl. ‘“ Say, sister, you got a grudge against Cawston, ain’t you?” “Oh, I’m through, Martin. I’ve seen enough suckers skinned without a bleat. I ain’t going back. I never liked Cawston and his kind. ,Say, Martin,” her sharp voice took on a pleading note, “lay off Pheenix stock. You got a wife and kids. Ke-p the dough for them.” Wilbur smiled broadly, to the girl’s sur- prise. ‘‘ My mind’s kind of set to buy that there stock, miss,” he said firmly. ‘“ I’m going to take the money right up to Mr. Cawston.” He lowered his voice. ‘“ It’s marked, girly.” Geraldine Farley blinked. Her brown eyes widened. Marked! How was that? ‘‘ Wha—what’ d’ye mean—marked?” she asked, wondering if she had heard aright. ' Wilbur still smiled. His gray eyes were still honest and mild. But one eyelid drooped significantly. Moreover, his words came, not drawling and nasal, but quick and alert—in the girl’s own manner. ‘With a tiny red-ink cross, under. the claw of the eagle on the century bills, girly. Cawston won’t see it. You’re all right, girly. It’s good dope to skip this joint. You got the idea. The coop ’ll be closed— tight—this afternoon. I'll see to that. I, and them guys.” He jerked his thumb at two thick-set individuals loitering near them. ‘‘ You stay away, and you won’t be none the worse.”’ Co NOO S Co mM