Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

OZ But George watched him anxiously. He did not want to take any chances with the law now that he had got a start in Rio. The old days of running with the gang in Slaughter Lane and ducking at the sight of a uniform seemed like a bad dream. But Jim Harbison had no thought of any- thing but Margot. As usual she was carrying the act alone, for Guy Dalby had not appeared for several nights. She was superb. As she finished her dance, the patrons of La Scala shouted, “Brava! Brava!” and there was a storm of clapping hands.. Coins and even jewelry were flung on the platform as the girl lifted her skirts and made a low bow. Harbison’s face was impassive, but even he applauded and beckoned Jean Lenoir, who waited on his table. He talked to him earnestly, glancing to where the girl sat. Tina felt a little spasm of jealousy. She was certain that her own dance would make that New York theatrical man sit up. At the same time she was hopeful that Margot’s work might result in an offer. Who could tell? Her rival might be sailing north in a week. Lenoir came hurrying to George with Harbison’s card. ‘‘ That gentleman wants to talk to the manager,” he said. ' ‘“ What’s the matter? A kick about the service?” “Oh no, sir,” Lenoir assured him respect- fully. ‘It’s about Miss Dalby. He wants to talk to you about her wonderful dance.” “He does? Well, you tell him I’m out!” exclaimed George. “ And it won’t be a lie, for I’m going to take a little walk right now! I don’t want to see him.” “ Shail I tell him that?” “ No—that would sound queer. Tell him that Guy Dalby is her manager. Let him talk to Dalby, that is, if he can ever find the poor fish when he’s not tanked.” And picking up his cap, George hurried out of the café, hoping that Guy would stay away from La Scala as usual. He loathed every line of that cocksure, impudent face. Of late he wanted to punch it at sight. For in spite of Margot’s defense of her guardian, George was more and more con- vinced that Guy Dalby was a bad egg. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. He had failed to show up time after time, for when he found out that his dancing partner could carry the act alone he ceased to worry. The money came in just the same. Why should he work? Guy was seen constantly at the green tables of the Monte Carlo Club. He won and he lost, but he never brought his win- nings home. ‘There were too many ladies of the Mademoiselle Fifi type who got their hands into his pockets first. He was regarded as a capital fellow, a good spender and a companion with“no fool- ish notions by the officers, politicians and young bloods who frequented the club. But his particular running mate was Don Pedro Valdez, owner of a coffee plantation that paid like a mint, and a boss who stood high in Rio politics. Don Pedro was in his thirties but looked older. Many trips to Paris had left pouches under his eyes and wrinkles on his heavy face. His hair had thinned, but not his waist. In fact he looked and dressed the part of an elderly Parisian roué. The Brazilian was a patron of the art of dancing, and he was willing to subsidize the artistes—all for the sake of Art, of course. ‘“ Ah, your ward, the lovely Margot!” he exclaimed that evening at the Monte Carlo. “Why you don’t make me acquaint with that superb creature?”’ “Nothing easier!” exclaimed Guy. “Come around to the café and I’ll intro- duce you to-night, old dear.” A few minutes later, Tina sitting at fer cashier’s desk saw Guy Dalby and the Brazilian millionaire jostle their way into the crowded café. Presently George came in from his stroll and she called him. “Happy,” she said. “ That fellow, Dal- by, is here. He acts like he owned the place. Ordered the waiters to bring up a table, right to the platform. “That table next to Harbison?” “Yes, that’s him. And look, he’s got Margot between him and his fat friend. He called her off the platform. The show has stopped while they are lapping up cham- pagne.” George was pale with fury. It was the limit! He strode over to the table and laid a hand on Guy’s shoulder. COMMICLOokKsS (C@