Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

400 Mr. Bugbee seemed ‘very much flattered, and no less interested than flattered—per- haps, on the whole, even more so—al- though he did not particularly desire that his interest become too obvious. His eccentric guest, who seemed a man of the world, might possess a cash value. The guest played golf; Mr. Bugbee played poker. There was a poker game that ran nights not far from the hotel. Mr. Stuart had intimated that it might be a dull night without golf links. Coal- port wasn’t so dull as it looked—provided _ the stranger within its sooty environs had a@ roll like Jimmy displayed, and the ‘“‘ open sesame ”’ to the cigar-store’s back door near the trolley terminal, , Mr. Bugbee had the sesame. Jimmy had the wherewithal. More than one casual conversation, such as this, had re- sulted in “ oat money ” for Mr. Bugbee. Mr. Bugbee was also a man of the world. He had started, when rather young, out to see the world. With him was one quadruped that had four feet, as well as forefeet and hind feet, a tail, and other equipment, including a mane, Mr. Bugbee called this quadruped “a hoss,” and he sold it as such to a man he met on his travels. By the time he reached Coalport he had enough horses to stock a livery stable, which he still owned—and wished he didn’t—owing to automobiles and oat bills. This was the time of the month when oat bills loomed up. And, in still another way, Mr. Bugbee felt a peculiar interest in Jimmy Stuart’s incipient lecture on handwriting. The name toward which Jimmy had pointed, Jason Tredway, was that of a once local celebrity, a nephew to the city marshal, Tom Tredway. So Mr. Bugbee was all attention when Jimmy began: ‘ “ Jason is an ancient name,” said he. “ It recalls the old, original Jason, who was a prince of Thessaly. With the aid of Medea, he brought away from Colchis the famous golden fleece guarded by the sleepless dragon.” ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. “What kind of fleece was that?” asked Mr. Bugbee blandly. ‘The same old golden fleece that passes current for chips in your local poker game,” said Jimmy suavely. Then a weird look passed over his face. ‘‘ My gracious — I just remembered——” He whipped out his watch. The hands pointed to half past seven. ‘““T just remembered that.I have to go to my room to work up the details of the day’s business,” said Jimmy. “It isn’t often I have such an active day. Call me at eight to-morrow, please. Good night, Mr. Bugbee.”’ He smiled engagingly down on the clerk from the first landing as he turned on the stairs leading from the lobby and office, en route to Room 36. Mr. Bugbee looked up with the half- dazed expression of a yokel who is just ‘coming out” after havirig been used for exhibition PUrPOseaaaly’ some professional hypnotist. Jimmy kept on going. When the latch to Room 36 clicked so plainly that it could be heard where the clerk still stood, Mr. Bugbee began finger- ing his vulpine chin, after which he cocked one eye aloft at the plaster of Paris center- piece on the ceiling of the hotel lobby, as if wondering whether or not it could be exchanged for some of the extremely rare commodity Jimmy Stuart had last men- tioned. This attitude was always a bad sign re- garding the state of the livery stable finances. Mr. Bugbee held it so long that it almost signified he feared involuntary bankruptcy. It was a hard, cruel, bitter world that let fresh, young typewriter sales- men come into Coalport and carry away all the local currency. Doubly cruel and hard, because the salesman’s sudden exit also took away the rare opportunity of an interesting conver- sation on many topics that interest a man of the world! Business must be very good with Mr. Stuart for him to have to retire so early to his room as half past seven o’clock to figure up his profits. “ He plays golf, too. And he travels out to Californy. He knows handwriting, and NOO (C(O) S (C(O) mM