Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

154 fat Chinaman choking a woman that was white. The sailor loosed a livid curse. “You damned brute!” he grunted as his tough right fist cracked against Louis Fung’s flabby cheek. ‘‘ You Chinee pig! You yellow Turk!” The fists rammed in with a hearty will. Fung’s fingers forgot their grip on his white wife’s throat. His eyes were bright with hate. Then one of them burned out and went dead as Brann drove an expert left into its socket. The Chinaman’s huge bulk began to sink. The rain of blows still beat upon him. With a sort of sigh Louis Fung struck the floor, quivered a bit like a great slain elephant, and finally lay still. Brann glowered at his fallen enemy. Then, rubbing his knuckles soothingly, he turned upon the woman. She, too, lay on the floor, leaning against a chair and still gasping for breath. A strand of dirty blond hair hung over one eye. Her lips sagged low. “ Nice, sweet husband you got, ma’am,” said Brann, grinning. “ Think I better go before a gang of cops grab me off.” He picked up his hat and started for the door. But before he reached it the woman had staggered to her feet and, half stum- bling, rushed across the room. Almost fiercely she threw her arms about Brann’s neck and kissed him. ““ Hey!” An epithet scorched across his lips as he shoved her away. His fist drew back to strike, but he- changed his mind. “ Easy how you take me,” he warned with a comical touch of dignity. ‘“ Kissing me ain’t for such as you. Maybe you're for- getting that I’m Pansy Delande’s man— the ‘Red Headed Queen’s.’ ” Louis Fung’s wife smiled wanly. “You can hit me if you want to,” she said. “I don’t care if you do, but—” “ But what?” roared Brann, and backed away as she approached him, THE Lv} NOTHING BUT MONEY v ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “T just wanted to tell you about Pansy.” A plaintive note came into her voice. “TI knew Pansy, mister; knew her for years and years. i was with her last December, the night that—that she died.” “The night she died!” whispered Brann, his eyes wide and staring. ‘“‘ My Pansy, is she—dead, ma’am? Did my Pansy—” Louis Fung’s wife nodded her head. “Yes, she died in my own arms. It was up in a little room on Kearney Street that she died.” The slattern halted abruptly and peered up into Brann’s eyes. She had be- thought herself of something more. “ Just one minute, sir.” She ran to the make-up box, opened it, and drew out a diamond brooch that had been treasured from a better day. Eagerly she gave it to the sailor. “It’s Pansy’s,” she said softly. “ Just before the end, sir, she put this in my hand and said I was to give it to you. She told me you would come back to her some day. And—and I’ve kept it all this time, waiting for you like I promised Pansy I would. Oh, how she loved you, sir!” That was about all. To Brann’s eager questions she gave answer as best she could. Finally he left, walking up the two narrow steps and along Ross Alley’s unkempt pave- ment. Louis Fung’s wife watched him from the doorway. Her eyes were dim. The flute was still. ““T’m damned if I remember that guy,” she muttered slowly. ‘ I—I wished I had.”’. She returned to the little shop, doused a pitcher of water upon Louis Fung’s sallow face, and regarded him contemptuously. For a minute she stared while his eyes re- luctantly opened. Then she rolled up her sleeves and helped him, puffing and groan- ing, to his feet. Once she glanced at her left arm and the tattooed snake which wound round and round seemed to leer mockingly up at her. END v - By FRED MacISAAC GREAT STORY. FIRST OF TWO PARTS NEXT WEEK Gomichooks (C@