Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 169: what you’re looking at

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

BING, BANG, BOOM! t-talk that way to a g-girl if he wasn’t— crazy!” But, somehow, though she was trembling _with what she knew must be rage, though her eyes were blurred and her throat strangely tight with what she knew must be righteous indignation, the heart within her sang. “I’m going to do that,” it sang to her; “I’m going to do that—and then I’m com- ing for you!” CHAPTER XXII. A WORD TO THE WISE. T four o’clock the following afternoon, Bert drove to the railroad-station and found David Hodge in the waiting- room. He was reading a book, following the lines with a long, bony forefinger, and he did not look up when Bert entered and crossed the room to where he was sitting. Bert seated himself upon the bench facing him, and waited, with growing impatience, for the station-master to acknowlecge his presence. “It looks like rain again,” said Bert finally. ‘I noticed it was clouding up in the west.” David grunted, without lifting his eyes from the book. ‘“*I suppose we'll have a lot of rain all this month, won’t we?” Bert tried again. Still David made no move to signify that he was aware of Bert’s presence. Bert bit his lip. - “Of course,” said Bert hotly, rising to his feet, “‘if you don’t want to talk to me, Ill be- going along. I had some business to talk to you about, but—” David looked up and closed his book. “‘ Wait a minute, son,’’ he called; for Bert had already started toward the door. “Were you wantin’ to see me?”’ Bert whirled about. ‘“ Hang it all, David! Why can’t you be ordinarily civil for once in your life? There’s such a thing as carrying things to extremes, you know, and—”’ “Son,” asked David, “‘ did you ever hear of Willy Shakespeare? beth ’?” Ever read ‘ Mac- 735 Bert walked back to the bench, and dropped into it again. “* Of course I’ve read it,” he replied gruff- ‘* What about it?”’ “Well, which do you think is the most interestin’: the murder scene in ‘ Macbeth,’ or a couple o’ remarks about the weather?” Bert hit his palm with his fist. what’s the answer?” “That’s what I was askin’ you,” said David. ‘ Anyways, I was readin’ ‘ Mac- beth ’ when you come in jest a while ago.” “You were!” exclaimed Bert. David nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “‘T wonder,” he said slowly, ‘“ who is the most uncivil—you or me? I’m a plain man, and I ain’t got much manners; you're the ly. “Well, kind o’ feller who kin sit at table an’ use . the right fork for the salad. Well, you call me uncivil b’cause I found ‘ Macbeth’ a leetle more interestin’ than some remarks you made regardin’ the weather, which didn’t have no. more to do with what you come to see me about than a talk about plug hats. “T was jest aimin’ to stick to good liter- choor till you circled round the house a couple o’ times and then knocked at the front door. You, on the other hand, look real surprised ’cause I told you I was read- in’ a book that you admitted you read your- self. In other words, you jest the same as come right out an’ told me you didn’t think I had brains enough to read or understand what was in a good book. Is that jest polite, now?” Bert dropped his eyes to his shoes, an uncomfortable warmth rising to his ears. Why, really, David, I didn’t—”’ “Whenever a man is about to say some- thin’ that ain’t jest exactly so, he begins it with: ‘Why, really.’ The only good liar is the man who kin say his lie in such a way that nobuddy kin connect it with any other lie they ever heard.” ‘Listen, David: You’ve got the idea that I don’t like you, and think you’re only good enough for me to wipe my feet on. That’s wrong. I'll admit that up to a short time ago you had me guessing. I didn’t know if you were wonderfully brilliant, or if you were just naturally loony. Well, I’ve made nn) 6)(0)O) (C(O) (C S (C(O) nn