Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

238 der, his palm would burn. ‘“ Of course it’s the atmosphere,” he said to himself. “ If the blowsy old den stays ugly it’s all right, but once you get a thing as beautiful as that to set it off, it makes you look for a knife whizzing at you from any corner.” A sailor slouched down audaciously into a seat at the same table—the very seat which Cora had occupied but a short while before. Glamours gave him a look which had in it something of injured pride, some- thing of amusement. the fellow want? A second look cast be- grudgingly over his shoulder assured him that this was the man who had been asked to “ drink ” chile and beans. The fellow stuck out his huge elbow and nudged Glamours without further cere- mony. Then putting the back of his hairy hand against his lips he began an affable and friendly conversation: “‘ You made the lummox drink lemonade, didn’t you? It paid him back for what he did to me, too, b’gosh. The bunch of stewed kelp! I'll crack him one myself when I get a chance. You called him for it and I’m thankful.” Glamours had not paid any attention. The chatter of this hairy fellow who had rolled in the sawdust but a short while be- fore was not a fitting obbligato to the harp- ist’s music. It came in fact as a distinct - jar. ‘‘ What does the smelly old cove want to meet me for. If I had known he was going to swank around bothering me I wouldn’t have mixed in.” But the other was still emitting a -flow of hissing whis- pers out of a side of his cut mouth. “ You stood by a sailor, b’gosh, and I ain’t forget- tin’? it. Til pay you for it.” Glamours turned upon him. “What do I want to be paid for?” “ Now, then, have a drink with me. The music will last. Turn around and listen to me instead. I’ve got something with more of a punch to it than them chanties—as one mariner to another.” The other turned, but with a threatening gesture. “What’s the music to you?” the fellow was saying. ‘“ You got other things to think about.” _ This caught him. “ Do you want to talk to me?” Glamours asked impatiently, What the hell did - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, “No, I don’t. Id rather drink than talk, but it’s my duty, mate. I feel I owe you a turn.” “ After the music.” “ Can’t wait.” . The other darted him a glance. “In trouble, are you? No more fighting.” “No more fighting?” the sailor laughed. There was hissing from those about. “ You ain’t started on the fighting you are in for!” ‘Now what?” Glamours asked angrily. ‘““Who’s after me?” “The management. And it ain’t oniy to fight you. It’s to come aboard you. You'll be floatin’ in the bayou—nosin’ around with the bull frogs if you don’t punch yourself. Mate, they’re after you. They’re goin’ to kill you. I heard from somebody. One of my shipmates heard something through that there porthole which opens out on them tables under the trees. The innkeeper wants you. For what, I don’t know—” Again Glamours caught the girl’s eye. A feeling of drunken abandon, ecstasy, went through him as if he had quaffed a goblet of hot wine. The music gripped him—she herself was playing with a fervor, an abandon, that fired every listener. She smote the strings, she tore at them, she clawed them. Her body was convulsed with a beautiful and rhythmic ferocity. Al Boscoe was the first to succumb to it. “ T’ll stop at nothing!” he said to himself. “I will have what I want. I will kill! I am power. I am unbeatable!” He reached out to Cora, who was standing near him, and gripped her wrist. She turned, surprised at his agitation. “Say, look here—” “Do you hear that woman?” he asked. “That’s love! That’s what I feel for you! No man that loves thataway will stop till he gets what he wants!” “Pouf! What do you—a N’Orleans barkeep—know of love?” “Me? N’Orleans teaches the world how to make love. That Creole girl there —she’s got it! “Look how she’s tearin’ into them strings, climbin’ all over ’em, like a puma! Mourn- GO .OO AMUC S (©