Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

766 grandiloquent gesture: “ When / tum the handle so ”—he rotated his hand mysteri- ously—‘“ and place the black singing-plates in it, the saints themselves could not keep fromm dancing. I learned how to do it from the alcalde, before I hired the witch ma- chine for a peso just for one evening to en- tertain you. Now / can control the magic, me!” He tapped himself upon the chest impressively. A little awed hum went around the circle of listening men. Someone interjected: “‘ Brave one, not to fear the magic!’’ An- other spoke up rather haltingly: “ About the drinks, Manuel: shall each man bring his share as usual?” Manuel remembered the half-dozen bot- tles of rum that he had thoughtfully ab- stracted from the store the day before, and answered with surpassing magnanimity: “Nay, friends, that is all provided for. When / invite, I entertain like a caballero.”’ This time the hum from the circle of " men was distinctly approving. The tone of it remained in his ears as Manuel walked toward the village, exalted with pride and gratification at the impression he had created, As he walked by a little brown boy work- ing in a tobacco-patch that flanked the road leaned on his hoe-handle and gave him grave salutation. Two women sat in the doorway of an adjoining shack, deftly weav- ing straw hats. The eaves of the thatched roof protruded, affording them shade from the noon-day sun. The women waved gayly as he passed. _The banana-leaves of a near-by grove, rib- boned by former high winds, rustled in the slight breeze. His eyes roved past the adjoining meadow, where oxen were brows- ing on the succulent malajilla grass, toward his’ own hut where stood his little wife, Lola, waving to him. “My prince!” she cried adoringly, as _Manuel approached, and pleased by the sal- utation, ne allowed himself to be kissed. That evening the overhead tropic moon, low hung, cast sharp, squatty shadows from the two tall coconut-trees on either side of Manuel’s shack. The breeze had gone down with the sun, and through the still- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ness myriad night noises came from an ad- jacent jungle patch. Cucubano bugs flashed their intermittent lights as they flew from the hibiscus shrubs to the clump of bamboo at the rear of the house. Inside, the single room of the thatched shack was brilliantly illuminated. Four candles in bamboo sockets flanked the walls, and as if in reckless extravagance two oil- lamps with glass chimneys cast dazzling refulgence over the ball-room. A tiny- phonograph held the place of honor, brave- ly upraising its flared tin horn from the top of an empty soap-box upon which the | machine stood. The guests arrived by twos and threes, with enthusiastic greetings at the prepara- tions thAt had been made. After his pom- pous salutations as host, Manuel led each of the arriving guests to the witch ma- chine; ‘impressively ending the awed inspec- tion with: “ You shall see later the fairy music issue whgn I turn the little switch, and command them to play. So sure I am of my power that I have not even practised on it since it arrived an hour ago.” Then he returned to the five-gallon empty oil-can that Lola had that day carefully boiled in potash water. ‘six bottles of white native rum, and with meticulous care added now and then water or a squeeze of lime, or a pinch of sugar fresh from the centrifugals, that the bever- age should be most delectable to fasfidious palates. | While the punch was being thus prepared, and Lola was cutting thin slices of stolen cheese to place between purloined soda- crackers; down the road, half a kilometer away, old Pedro Alvarez sat alone on the steps of his dark store. He raised his head, listening, as the soft shuffling of bare feet slowly approached. The aged washer- woman drew nearer down the moonlit road. “ Buena’ noche’, Don Pedro.” “You go to the baife?” the old miser in- quired, with a twisted smile, pointing up the road toward Manuel’s house. ‘“ They do not invite us ancients,” cackled the old woman. ‘““Of an age we are,” assented Pedro, “but if not to the dance, why walk you at this hour? Of a certainty not for exercise?” Into it he emptied . nn) (C 6)(0)O) (C(O) S (C(O)