Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

266 the other, smaller and a trifle—ah—more handsome, gazed placidly out over the shim- mering water and puffed upon a cigar. “Gad, that black boy packs a wallop!” muttered the scowling figure, gingerly touching the band upon his forehead. “T warned you about that right hand of his, Dynamite,” Lew Ammon retorted earnestly. The other grunted, swore unintelligently and sprawled back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Ammon puffed for a time in silence. Then he rose to his feet. “ Just thought of something,” he remarked to his compan- ion. A rasping buzz, followed by a long- drawn wheeze which sounded like the in- take of a single cylinder gas engine, was his only reply. Dynamite Breen was work- ing at the task he loved best—sleeping. Proceeding forward Ammon entered the cabin which had been assigned to the Vic- tor’s recently acquired passengers. Here, in the darkened interior, he fumbled for a bit under the berth and brought forth four sticky, sweat-streaked boxing gloves. Paw- ing them gently he ran a hand inside one and smiled as he produced a curved, me- tallic object. It was a horseshoe, and un- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. til that morning it had hung above the low doorway of the Hotel Astor in the island village of Kiwyourrani—placed there, no doubt, by a member of the departed film company. Slipping it in the pocket of his new jacket, generously provided by the skipper of the Victor, Lew took up the four gloves and strolled out on the deck. He spied the mate, leaning dreamily against the rail, and approached him. “ Here,” said Lew, proffering the gloves, “these belong to the captain or some of the boys. I corralled ’em right after the fight, but in the excitement I forgot to re- turn ’em.” . “ Thanks,” drawled the officer, accepting the burden and sauntering aft at a leisurely pace. Alene by the rail Lew Ammon drew the horseshoe from his pocket, held it for a sec- ond in the light of the moon, then planted a kiss squarely upon its curved end and tossed it overboard. A gentle splash and a small series of concentric circles marked its exit in the water below. “ Anyway,” muttered Lew, turning from the rail, “‘ my conscience is clear. I warned him.” THE END Le] U Uv THE UNCERTAIN GUEST HEN Love will come, Or whence he comes, Or how long he will stay— And whether he’ll be warm enough Or whether grave or gay— How Love will come, Or where he comes, Or what Love first will say— And whether And means he'll be true enough his debts to pay— What Love will bring Or what he’ll Be all this take— as it may, Tf he but comes And does not Some day when I’m away. a = —— eee - ~ = See i ee ee ae a ee ae Sm 5 i ¢ eee SS, So ee eee ia — ~~ 2 nig choose Marie Lee Warner, © ge re oe