Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

By A. D. burg. In the shade trees on the dusty street tree toads and cicadas chirped their songs, the katydids occasionally join- ing in the chorus as the shadows grew longer. On the stoop of McGoogle’s grocery many members of Coonburg’s Sportsmen’s Club lounged lazily, squirting, with deadly accuracy of aim, streams of amber-colored tobacco juice at any unfortunate fly that alit within range, or filling the air with smoke from pipes loaded with rank plug tobacco as they discussed the affairs of the neighborhood. From out a cloud of dust Fritz Stuffel- funk, farming on Mud Creek, drove up be- fore the store. As he alighted his aston- ished friends saw that he came in a brand new automobile. With a hasty salute ‘“Gudt afternoon, chentlemen,” he entered [ was late summer afternoon in Coon- TEMPLE the store, coming out a few minutes later loaded down with purchases. Stowing them away snugly, he cranked up, turned on the juice, and with a broad smilé and wave of his hand to the speculating crowd was gone. Link Brown watched his dust as he dis- appeared, knocked the ashes from his corn- cob pipe, and asked the club in general: . ‘Now, where in time d’ye reckon Dutch Fritz got the cash to buy that flivver? He made no crop this year, an’ his land ain’t worth two bits an acre; it’s so poor it ’d starve a goat to death.” ““They’re sayin’ down round the Corners that he found a chest of buried money when he dug that drain ditch in his south forty,” said Jeff Tate.. ‘‘ Mebbe he did, but it was jest fool luck. You or me could dig an’ delve for forty years round here, an’ not find a durned red cent.” ‘“Thet’s so—thet’s so,” observed Josh 635 Gomichbook. e PF £4 of Tati ( err I. es = 3 yr