Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 4, 1922 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

346 you just to call on you. You said your word was as good as your bond. Can't you get the money somewhere, Chester? I don’t care how. If we can get back home before they find Harold out—” Something leaden sank to the pit of Ches- ter’s stomach. Well he remembered that he had given his word; as he looked upon the misery of Maybelle Jones, he knew in his heart of hearts that she had no claim upon any real part of his nature. An overpowering pity for her swept him. In the same moment his mind reverted to his mother—the stain of taunt and gibe’ waiting to be blotted out. Curiously, some- thing else came to him; something Francis X. Tally had said, “ Prove yourself first!” Slowly, mechanically, solely by the com- mand of some inner self, the hand of Ches- ter Gibbs moved toward his pocket. “Take this and go back, Maybelle,” he said. Then he added under his breath: U Lv} ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. And get Harold a new job—where he won’t have to handle money.” Tally was packing when Chester’s bold knock brought him to the door. The sharp, experienced eye of the business man caught some vibration of character which, hitherto, he had not observed. Perhaps it was an effect that came from the new straight- squared set of the shoulders; the solid clamp of a solid jaw. *“* Mr. Tally,” said Chester Gibbs evenly, *“T want ‘that note to the publisher of the Sun,” : S Tally looked him straight in .the eye, smiled slightly. “What happened to your thousand?” Chester’s face was serious. ‘I invested it,” he said. “* All right,” said Tally. “I'll not write that note. I’ll go over to the Sux with you.” U U THE CHAMP | SING you the song of the winner de luxe, Who never has wilted or quailed, Who holds each proud record from Adam to date And laughs at the lad who has failed; On land or on sea or aloft in the air, In football or baseball or track, He goes on his way with a nonchalant grin, Forevermore leading the pack. Great Sullivan withered before his fierce drives, And Rusie and Mathewson, too; McLoughlin and Jeffries, Tod Sloan and Frank Gotch Were “‘ has-beens ” when he would come through; He meets every comer with unconcealed joy; They are only wet clay in-his hands; With no thought of mercy he batters them down And back to the dim shadowlands. He is the miracle-worker, the star, Who never goes counter the dope; He sets his own pace in his own waiting way, Then smashes each challenger’s hope; His battles are legion, and yet no defeat Has blemished his record sublime; I give you the winner, the star of all stars, The champ of all champs, Father Time! Edgar Daniel Kramer. COmiclboolks.Gonm