Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

THE FAMILY ALBUM. it through the rain, ’stead of hitting the bright lights back home!” “ But your folks—won’t they be looking for your” “T got no folks. Pals, o’ course. But they can wait. They know me—and what Vl do first thing. The guy I’m out to get don’t know I’m out. They sprung me two weeks ahead o’ time for good behavior.” Once more, though he did not know it, the Wop was talking with a sagacious and experienced person. Miss Ellen Prime was, in all the ways of the world known to him, as innocent as her tabby cat which dozed on the haircloth sofa. Less than six times in her life had she been fifty miles from this little house where she was born. But her mind, though traveling in a narrow cir- cle, was acute and observant. And since human nature is about the same every- where, and she had seen it in its crises for more than a half century of time, she had gained a certain wisdom that was in its way vastly superior to the low cunning, the sophistication of slums, with which her guest was endowed. For many years it had been she who was called upon by the community in its homely tragedies. She was the only nurse for miles around, and she was self-taught, save for what scanty lore the hard worked country doctors could find time to impart. She was present when babies came; and her kind, gentle hands had closed the eyes of scores of dying neighbors, She had fear- lessly entered the homes where contagious diseases held sway; and so closely had she woven her personality into the lives and deaths of the countryside that no other ear had so often received, no other lips so faithfully guarded, the heartbroken confes- sions of the transgressor, of the ignorant girl, or the willful lad. Now, feminine enough to tremble at the thought of being alone,. this desolate, wind- racked night, with a released convict who not only admitted that murder was his pur- pose, but openly exulted in it, she sought to pit her frailty against his evil stubborn- ness, and did not shrink from the task of turning him aside. She rocked silently for a few moments, while Mike the Wop, immensely comfort- 907 able, a fresh cigarette drooping from his thin lips, let his eyes stray lazily about the prim little room. To do him justice, he was grateful in his own easygoing way. It had been a good feed; he was getting warm and dry. The old dame was a sport; not for worlds would he rob her or even scare her. All he wanted was a few minutes more before the fire, and then, refreshed in mind and body, he would be on his way. By dawn he ought to ar- rive. And the errand should not take him long. He knew the house, the occupants, the lay of the rooms. Knew where to gain en- trance—just where the stairs were. And the room—the room where slept the doomed stool-pigeon he sought. His fingers closed contentedly upon the knife they had re- turned to him with his other things, there at the pen. It was only a jackknife—but it was big enough and sharp enough. His eyes, sleepily prowling, focused upon the harsh, life-sized features of a man framed on the wall over the haircloth sofa. {t reminded him of something—what was it—where— The Rogues’ Gallery—that was it! Hard looking old bird, with his mouth a straight slit, his eyes close to- gether, the funny side whiskers and the choker and white tie like gamblers used to wear. He looked the sort who, had one -asked him for bread, would give a stone; and the stone would be hurled, too! ‘“‘Who’s the twenty-minute egg?” he asked pleasantly, more to make conversa- tion than from real interest. “‘ The hard lad over yonder?” He indicated the portrait, which did in- deed merit his comment, such being the characteristic of the old time crayon en- largement. Miss Prime’s eyes followed Mike’s. A startled look came into them, followed by a quizzical gleam. Mike the Wop had shown her something she had not noticed in all the score of years the portrait of Henry Prime had hung there. He had done more than that. She sighed. ‘“‘My boy, you bring up bitter memories. That—that man was a member of my own family. Like you, he nursed hatred in his heart. And so they hung him. Didn’t have COMIGD OOo! (©