Pulp Fiction, 1907 · page 99 of 228
The Argosy, March 1907 — page 99: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1907. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Gs Se. A ee ey. eg ee Le Se ee Se Le ht se Te Pe ah eg ee OS Pa ale Sh Ni ee ‘ a “, ie ie i egite Ra at > ee + € + é - os e*) oe ae € x 7 . > eee IN THE MOUTH OF THE GIFT-HORSE. * 671 will be taken down to the Tombs and have your preliminary examination.” And despite Martin’s almost appealing efforts to argue the point further, he would listen to nothing more, but di- rected bruskly that the prisoner be taken back and permitted no communication with any one from the outside. Alive to this mandate, the turnkey who had Dave in chargé conducted him rapidly through the big room, keeping him well out of reach of the reporters, who surged forward at their appearance, eager to get new details of the story. The two passed through an iron door which clanged heavily behind them, and into a low, whitewashed chamber filled with rows of cells. ‘“ Sorry,” the man observed apologet- ically, as he took down a key from the rack on the wall, “but we are pretty well filled up to-night, and I can’t give you a room to yourself. The best I can do, I guess, is to put you in with that suspect who was brought in last night. He’s clean, at least, which is mcre than can be said of most of them.” ‘Well, that’s some comfort at least,’’ smiled Dave, striving to make the best of the situation, ‘‘ and if he doesn’t mind, you needn’t bother, about crowding me: I don’t fancy I shall be able to sleep much to-night, anyway.” Nevertheless, he could not help shrink- ing back a little from the figure stretched out upon the bunk in the narrow com- partment into which he was ushered. He was not used to associating with prison- birds, and he could not conquer his fas- tidious aversion all in a second. But the sleeping man, waked up by their entrance, turned over, pushed his hat back from his brow, and struggled up on one elbow. Dave gave a stifled cry of amazement, rubbed his eyes to make sure that he was not dreaming, and then grabbed the other in a rapturous bear-hug of ecstatic relief. His cell-mate was none other than Hal Irancis ! CHAPTER IX. LHE WRONG WAY OUT. Or course, word was immediately sent out to the desk of the startling climax to the sensational case; but the captain, as it happened, had gone out immediately after his interview with Dave, and in his absence no one cared to take steps looking to the release of. the prisoners. Besides, it was necessary to send for people who could properly identify Hal, as it was hardly likely that either his word or Dave’s would be taken as final under the circumstances, so in one way and another quite a little time elapsed before the chums were finally set at lib- erty. It cannot be said, however, that the intervening period of incarceration ap- peared especially long to either of them, so many questions had to be asked and — answered before each was fully informed as to the straits through which the other had been passing. First Dave had to relate in detail all the circumstances of the murder charge, and this of course brought out the still more lengthy recital of the various pre- dicaments into which he had been thrust on account of his possession of the piano- player. ; Then, too, it was hardly likely that he would fail to apprise Hal of a certain other piece of news which caused the latter to-grip his hand in.a congratula- tory clasp and to wish him all kinds of good luck. But at last his experiences were all told, and he turned to his companion to inquire eagerly what it was that had also landed him behind prison-bars. “Heaven knows,” exclaimed Hal, ‘unless it is sheer bad luck, or, perhaps, a punishment inflicted on me by Provi- dence for the bad temper and general cussedness I displayed in our little al- tercation last night. “There is no charge against me, as I understand,” he went on to explain. ‘“T am simply held here on suspicion of being a possible burglar. “What do you think of that? ” he cried indignantly. ‘ Me, a New Yorker born and bred, with thousands of acquaint- ances all over this city, picked upon suspicion of being a burglar, and caged in this foul place for twenty-four hours without redress, and without even being granted the opportunity of communica- ting with my friends! Oh, I am going to make somebody suffer for this ordeal ~ when I get out.”’ * Comnielnwool KS (ee) mM |