Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

CZESAR’S the rugs (after she’d beaten them). Not that Mrs. Purdy need be sympathized with, for no matter how much work was to be done or what complaint was to be borne with, she met it cheerfully because she un- derstood Henry. That seemed to console her tremendously. | People in Boynton understood vaguely that Purdy was employed in some sort of confidential capacity by the Cataract Fire Hose people. Anyhow, it was enough to know that in Boynton he was a person of considerable consequence, if not the first, at least one of the leading citizens of the little community: Recorder Purdy. Now when Henry Purdy was chosen by the borough council to fill the office of re- corder he swore true and faithfully to dis- charge his duties without fear or favor. And he had performed his office with such impartiality that, if any one had happened to think of it, they could have exclaimed with perfect propriety: ‘‘ A Daniel come to judgment!” And this, if memory plays no trick, was the situation at the time Pete Bomeisler’s dog was killed. Not that Bomeisler’s collie was an un- usual sort of dog. He was just plain dog, more of him around the muzzle than a well-bred collie should have had, and also less length to his legs than a dog-fancier would have demanded. But Shep had one point that not many other dogs in town could boast: his master was a member of -the common council. - The night after the collie’s demise, Mr. Bomeisler appeared at the council meeting with grim resolve writ on his features. ‘“‘ Gentlemen,” he said, when at length he achieved the floor, ‘“‘ I guess some of you have heard that my Shep was killed last night.” | There was more or less general interest. ‘What I want to ask you,” continued Councilman Bomeisler, beginning to get excited, “is how we would feel to-night if it had been a child that had been killed?” Mr. Bomeisler was working up a good head of emotional steam. It seemed to be chok- ing him. ‘‘ Suppose it had been a child?” he chal- lenged. “This meeting to-night would be an indignation meeting—not of the coun- CHOICE. 683 cil, but of the voters. That’s what it would!”” He whacked one palm against the other. ‘“And I propose, fellow members of council,’ Bomeisler thundered, ‘“‘ to make this. an indignation meeting to-night. Of course it was only a dog, but it might just as easy have been Jordan’s little boy ”— Councilman Jordan blinked—“ or Fleet’s baby.” Van Fleet was one of the few who hadn’t heard the details of.Shep’s taking off. He pictured gunmen shooting his two-year-old infant, or some arch fiend putting Paris green on its playthings. Van Fleet leaned over to Cunningham to be enlightened as to the particulars of Shep’s departure. ‘“The time to lock the door,” Bomeisler was saying, ‘is befcre the horse is stolen.” (He neglected to explain the virtue of lock- ing up if the horse was to be stolen any- way). “Run over gy an automobile,” Cunning- ham was whispering to Van Fleet. Then Bomeisler burst out with it. ‘These automobiles,” he cried, “ are something awful in Boynton. We’ve got to do something to stop the speeding—es- pecially Sundays. And the sooner the bet- ter, say I!” Any one who has been at a borough council meeting knows what Bomeisler’s declaration brought on. It was after twelve | . before Purdy, who had dropped in at the meeting to hear what. was in the wind, got to his bed. And the next morning he just managed to make the last train that would get him to the alpaca coat and tooth-dent- ed pen-holder in time. It was three weeks before the Bomeisler resolution bore fruit, what with the three readings of the bill. Second and third readings were held the same night, but some: reverence had to be shown red tape for the business before a borough council would be little indeed without that crimson encumbrance. Meanwhile the need for ‘just such action had been further impressed | on the community by a collision in which the station hack was scratched. up by a swiftly driven touring-car that swept on its way without pausing. The third Sunday after Mr. Bomeisler Van mG (C(O) 6)(0)©) S (C(O) nn