Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

274 “ First time you’ve won, Frank?” asked Carterfield as they waited for the car. “The very first, and I’ve been playing with those fellows every week for two years until the last six months.” “How much did you drop, Murfree?”’ continued the broker. * About nine hundred.” The elevator arrived and they stepped into it. “Well,” remarked Carterfield, ‘“ God knows I’m no squealer, but that’s a crooked game if there ever was one. I'll bet as much as I lost to-night that Baker fumbled that last deal, or Hathaway wouldn’t have won.” “Plain as a green brand,” replied the Westerner. ‘‘ He gave Hathaway the hand that he intended for Rittick. I didn’t know that, of course, till the finish, but I tried to give the kid a tip to stay out.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when there came a sound of violent lan- guage from the region of the room they had just left. It was not very distinct, but the words sounded like “* You fool,” and there was a violent bump on the floor. The men in the elevator exchanged sig- nificant glances. “Say, fellows,” said Frank, “I'll be glad to split my check with you, three ways.” ** Nothin’ doin’, kid,” replied Murfree. “When I’m stung, I’m stung.” “Same here, Frank,” said Carterfield. **Tt’s your turn, anyhow.” Frank rose late the next morning. He had been restless. Somehow the breaking of his faith with Florence weighed upon him more heavily than if he had lost. If the game had resulted as usual, he might have appeased his conscience a little with the thought that the loss was his punish- ment. He was filled with loathing at the very thought of the cards. Well, he would go to her and make a clean breast of it. “You look tired, dear,” Florence Hatha- way said as he stepped onto the farmhouse porch. “Tam tired. Tired and disgusted—dis- gusted with myself. Florence, I’ve got to tell you—I’ve been gambling again.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. She looked at him silently, with hopeless eyes. ‘I hope you'll give me one more chance. I know that I’m through with it forever.” ‘How much did you lose this time, Frank?” she inquired listlessly, as if it did not matter much. ‘“That’s the worst of it, the way I feel now. I didn’t lose. I won—won more than all my previous losses.” She started with surprise. He took Co- vert’s check from his pocket and handed it to her. It was drawn on their own bank. “It’s all yours, honey—if you’ll take it. I’m feeling so darn virtuous that I don’t want a cent of it.” “Well,” she replied, sardonically, “I don’t feel quite as virtuous as that, myself. But [ tell you what you do, Frank. You go round to the bank and cash this the very first thing Monday morning. We'll decide what to do with the money after we get it. And say—mother’s a lot better, and I’m gomg back to town with you to-night—you come by the store as soon as you’ve been to the bank.” “Do you mean you don’t think Covert’s check is good?” ““Oh—I didn’t say so. But let’s get the cash.” Alas! The check apparently did not represent cash. When Frank presented it the teller scratched his head and then called upstairs through his counter telephone. After that he took a cruel rubber stamp and smeared in violet ink across the face of Covert’s handsome voucher the brutal words, ‘‘ Not Sufficient Funds.” Frank felt sheepish indeed as he entered his wife’s little office. That fine new right- eous feeling—to end in such a fizzle! “ Well?” said Florence briskly. He handed her the stamped check. “IT knew it! I knew it! Well, what did you do about it?” “Nothing yet. I tried to get Covert by phone at the hotel, but they said he wasn’t up, and would I please call a little later.” Florence shot him a look which very plainly said that for sheer incompetence husbands were certainly the limit. She EOMMIGL OOO KS (F@)