Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

PAWNED. “By God!” The welt across the young ‘man’s face grew suddenly white, as though the blood had flied from it to suffuse his temples. He half rose, staring levelly into the other’s eyes. The tall man was apparently quite un- disturbed. “And the third reason is that I have been looking for just such a—-there really isn’t any other word—gentleman, providing he was possessed of another and very essen- tial characteristic. You possess that char- acteristic in a most marked degree. Your actions to-night are unmistakable evidence that you have nerve.”’ “Tt strikes me that you’ve got a little of it yourself,” observed the young man evenly. The quill toothpick under the adroit guidance of his tongue traveled from the leff to the right-hand side of the other’s mouth, “Tt is equally as essential to me,” he said dryly. ‘‘ You appear to fill the bill; but there is always the possibility of a fly in the ointment; complications—or un- pleasant complications, perhaps, you know, that might have arisen since you left San Francisco, and that might—er—complicate matters.” The young man relapsed into recumbent position upon the sand, his hands clasped under his head again, and in his turn ap- peared to be absorbed in the beauty of the night. ‘““ Moon-madness! ”’ ingly. ‘“A myth!” said the tall man promptly. “Would you mind sketching in rough the details of your interesting career since you /ieft the haunts of the aristocracy?” “T don’t see any reason why I should.” The young man yawned. “Do you sée any reason why you shouldn’t?” inquired the other composedly. “None,” said the young man, “ except that the steamer sails at daybreak, and I should never forgive myself if you were left behind.” “Nor forgive yourself, perhaps, if you failed to sail on her as a first-class passen- ger,” said the tall man quietly. “What?” ejaculated the young man. he murmured pity- 295 The other shrugged his shoulders. “It depends on the story,’’ he said. ‘““I—I don’t understand.” The young man frowned, ‘‘ There’s a chance for me to get aboard the mail boat?”’ “It depends on the story,” said the other again. ‘“ Moon-mad!” man once more, after a moment’s silence. ‘But it’s cheap at the price, for it’s not much of a story. Beginning where you le& off in biography, I ducked when the crash came in San Francisco, and having arrived in hell, as you so delicately put it, I started out to explore. Mr. Dante had it right— there’s no use stopping in the suburbs. I lived a while in his last circle. It’s too bad he never knew the ’Frisco water-front; it would have fired his imagination! I’m not sure, though, but Honoluly’s got a little on ’Frisco, at that! Luck was out. I was flat on my back when I got a chance to work my way out to Honolulu. One place was as good as another by then.” The young man lit a cigarette, and stared at the glowing tip reminiscently with his gray eyes. ‘You said something about gambling,” he went on; “but you didn’t say enough. It’s a disease, a fever that sets your blood on fire and makes your life kind of deliri- ous, I guess—if you get it chronic. I guess I was born with it. I remember when I was a kid J—but I forgot, pardon me, the mail boat sails at daybreak.” “Go as far as you like,” said the tall man, picking at his teeth with the quill toothpick. Pa t The young man shook his head. Honolulu is the next stopping place,” he said. ‘On the way out I picked up a few odd dollars from my fellow-members of the crew, and-—”’ “Teck!” Yt was the quill toothpick. The young man’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw set challengingly. ‘“ Whatever else I’ve done,” he stated in a significant monotone, “ I’ve never played crooked. Jt was on the level.” “Of course,” agreed the tall man hast- ily. “I sat_ in with the i stakes 4 = ” Vem murmured the young inn