Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

422 and, from Mr. Bugbee’s short but no less impressive statement, a scapegrace for years. Hard on this came fresh TNT explosions. Vivian spoke, addressing Marshal Tom, reproachfully. ‘Marshal Tom, are you still in official character ?”’ “No, Viv. Why?” ‘“‘ Did you have any news from Norman? I thought he was in here, and you wanted to give me a surprise. His letter, you know —the one I got this afternoon when Mr. Stuart came into the office—says he will be home in the morning.” Then, for the first time, she caught sight of the bantam. . “Oh, Mr. Burns. I was wondering when I’d see you, or if I would before Norman saw you, himself. Now, you know what you asked me. By the way, did you see anything of a photo of Norman’s that was on the mantel when you called night before last?” The bantam made as if to rise. Jimmy stepped forward. Until this in- stant he had not known the bantam was Burns. Knowing it, he now knew much more than any one else. ‘Sit down, Mr. Burns! and keep your hands on the table— plain stght. the idea. Now, please remember there is a lady present—and don’t try to put your hands under the table nor pick up that gun Jason just dropped. Jason, you sit down, too.” Mike sat down, with a feeble air of a bantam defying a mere worm which he has held in high disdain from the first; but the man who had spoken knew his bravado was leaking faster than the blood dripping from Jason’s hand, although the bank teller de- manded: “ Are you a detective? If you are, show me your authority!” “ Cackle to my other necktie during busi- ness hours, to-morrow. I’m too busy, or going to be.” Jason started to speak. “No, he ain’t a detective—he’s—” ~ “ Silence!” said the man who had shot the pistol from the would-be murderer’s deliberate hand. ‘‘ I’m— Well, at present no matter who I am. I’m the merry little That’s 7 ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. “angleworm that’s running this show, until Marshal Trédway sends every one but you two scamps home. Mr. Bugbee and Miss Baldwin may remain, for a moment, if they wish to do so.”’ When they had gone, Jimmy invited Miss Baldwin to sit down. ““Now,” said he, “let me first explain to you that yesterday Mr. Burns mailed Norman’s missing photograph to Pitts- burgh, to a certain banker, in the hope of detecting a trace of a crime in which he recently took part. That photograph was received by the banker, who has just wired me that this photograph of Norman Bald- win is mot the photograph of the Norman Baldwin whose name was mentioned in a certain quite glowing letter, setting forth that gentleman’s impeccable character, and trustworthiness, typed on First National Bank letterhead, and purported to be signed. by Cashier Henry Phelps.” “ Why,” gasped Vivian, “‘ Mr. Burns dic- tated that letter to me in my office, some six weeks or so ago, and told me that he was going to get Norman a good position. Didn’t Norman get it?” “This other young man got it—at least he presented it, through me, to a certain bank in Pittsburgh, after I introduced him there; and after he had first bought twenty- eight typewriters from me in one order— the first day I started to sell them,” said Jimmy, with a rueful smile. He looked over at Jason Tredway. “Your hand needs bandaging, but t will get well more quickly if you have a clear conscience,” said he. ‘“ Do you want to listen to me—and correct me if I don’t get things quite right?” “T won’t lie no more, for nobody,” said Jason, with a vengeful glance toward Burns. “It won’t do any good if you do. Now, Jason, you didn’t buy those twenty-eight typewriters I sold you for yourself or with your own money, did you? You bought them for that rascal of a stock-broker, John Snodgrass, and with his money, didn’t your” “Yes, sir.’ “But, you told me when you bought them that your name was Norman Bald- ELOOO (C(O) S Co mM