Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 176: what you’re looking at

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

518 Hig’s own dander was getting stirred. *‘ Pinch or no pinch,” he declared rabidly, “** Burned Alive’ is our piéce de réststance —and our piéce de résistance it’s going to remain. That’s final!” “ Final, is it?” Hig didn’t relish her pronunciation. ‘¢ Final.” “ Well, Hig,” she ultimatumed, “ I won’t leave you in the hole. I'll stick this week out. But if you don’t rig up some illusion without a trap-door, I’m off you for good. That’s final!” she triumphantly snapped. “But, Car’line, we can’t substitute. ‘Burned Alive’ is what I got the booking on. Be reasonable, won’t you?” “IT am reasonable. I’ve put up with the cremation as long as I intend to. Brady wouldn’t have stood for my doing as you’ve made me!”’ ‘“‘ Mr. Brady was your husband, ma’am,” meekly submitted Higgins. She crimsoned. ‘“ Husband or no hus- band,” she ranted, “ Mr. Brady knew his place. Oh, how I wish I never had left him! ”? = “Left him, Car’line? I thought he en- gineered the disappearance act.” “Look here!’”’ she spellbound him. ‘“‘ Either you are going to adopt a different tone or—” This time a genuine snort escaped Hig- gins. He rose unceremoniously and left the room without a word. He absently de- scended the stairs— though he passed a waiting elevator—walked out through the lobby, and started up the street. The rain had ceased falling, but had it poured it is doubtful if he would have returned for an umbrella. | “I’m tired hearing that everlasting Brady stuff she’s been pulling lately,” he muttered as he walked. “I wish to the devil she could—” | He halted, open mouthed, at a line of printed-matter that stared him in the face. He found himself looking into the spacious lobby of the local Calcium house, directly at a large, framed, display photograph. It was the picture’s caption that held his eyes. “Of all the—-” he ejaculated, as soon as he could get his lips close enough together ow Feet Pe eee - a0 ree ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. to pronounce the words. For the legend he gazed upon was: BUGHOUSE BRADY Nut Comedian THIS WEEK ‘* Speaking of the marvels of telepathy!” the astounded Mr. Higgins mentioned to himself. ‘‘ If this isn’t the limit! Here I’m thinking of nothing on earth but Car’line’s former husband, and then to open my eyes and find myself staring—” With his long thumb and forefinger he seized the tip of his chin and twisted it—an old mannerism of his—then released his hold, his chin red- dening as it unwound itself. Hig’s knowledge of the habits and ap- pearance of Bughouse Brady had been ob- tained exclusively through Caroline’s lucid accounts of the events which led to their disuniting. To judge from the photograph, Brady’s face was almost handsome, yet there was a trace of weakness at the mouth and about the over-large and shallow eyes. Higgins advanced into the lobby and scrutinized the picture more closely. “I wonder,” he meditated—‘ I wonder if I can’t cook up a little concoction that will cure Car’line of ever mentioning Mr. Oscar . -—and here his words must have become au- dible—‘ Bughouse Brady in my—” ‘‘ Did I hear you call my name?” A rather tall and fleshy gentleman, stand- ing near the box-office window had turned and approached the illusionist. Hig’s eyes darted from the photograph to the round face of his interrogator. ‘“‘ Why—you are Mr. Brady himself!”’ “Tam. Anything I can do for you?” “‘ Eh—yes, Mr. Brady, I believe there is. If you happen to know of a place where re- freshments may be—” | Already Mr. Brady was leading the way to the Elfin bar. And, before they had passed through the small, swinging doors, Balboa Higgins had mapped a tentative course of action. Over there tea, Hig introduced himself, and promptly bought again. ‘“ I—I have for my assistant a young lady,” he chose his words carefully, ‘‘ who has, of late, dis- turbed my mental balance somewhat. I (7 OQ = 9) nn) ] Co S Co mM