Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

S CHAPTER XXII. THE BROKEN IDOL. O tell you the truth, Boom,” Tur- ner replied slowly, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll ad- mit I had Blake with me at the dance be- cause I didn’t have any idea what a—” ‘Never mind the explanations,” Bert cut in. “I know all about it. I know who Blake—or Paprika—was, and how he came to Selma, and everything else connected with the whole dirty business. Now put up your hands, because I’m going to begin right now.” Turner shrugged, and dropped his hands to his sides. — ‘“‘T haven’t any desire to fight with you, Boom. If you have any charges to make against me, you’d better go to the proper authorities, and—” * Put up your hands!” cried Bert, breath- ing hard. ‘“ Put them up, and defend your- self, you yellow, cowardly cur!”’ Turner did not move, his arms still hang- ing, defenseless, at his sides, his shrewd eyes squarely meeting Bert’s hot gaze. “I prefer not to fight you,” he said quietly. Bert ‘hesitated. He shrank from hitting a man who would make no attempt to defend himself; and yet he knew that it was just that upon which Turner was count- ing to save himself from the beating he merited. - ~ FT Raymond Leslie Goldman ‘“'You’re such a despicable cur,” he said contemptuously, “that no man can treat you as he’d treat another man. But you’re going to get your licking, anyway, even if it isn’t a man’s licking.” _ He took a step forward and brought down his open palm across Turner’s cheek. With a gasp, Turner swayed to the left; but Bert’s left palm was ready, and its stinging open-handed blow sent Turner staggering to the right again. Again and again he swung his hard-stretched palms across Tur- ner’s cheeks, and when Turner, in frantic desperation, sought to shield his battered face with crossed arms, Bert played a re- sounding tattoo on his ribs. Bert had not once clenched his fists, so his blows were not seriously damaging; but, withal, they were very painful, and Turner finally dropped weakly to his knees, where he crouched in terror. — Turner’s ignominious thrashing did not require much more time for its accomplish- ment than it takes to tell of it, for Bert’s lithe arms in action attained the bewildering speed of an automatic riveter. At the first sharp sound of Bert’s blows, Turner’s workmen, who had moved away to some distance, came running to the scene of the conflict, and now, as Turner sank to his knees and Bert stooped over him, ready to yank him again to his feet, they were at hand. “ Help!” shouted Turner, hearing their approach. ‘“ Take him off! Hold him!” This story began in the Argosy-Allstory Weekly for July 31, nn) 6)(0)O) a (C(O) S (C(O) nn