The Argosy for May — page 187: what you’re looking at

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

374 foot of an imposing front stoop. The Southerner felt grateful for this. It was less humiliating to have to give up his finery where the light was not so glaring. He even murmured, “ Thank you,’ as the young man walked away with the garment drawn over the one he already wore. Then, as he still stood and tried to grasp the situation, it dawned upon him that he had put his last four dollars in the inside pocket of that overcoat. He start- ed to run after the young man who had been so generous as not to prosecute him. He did not run far. “That’s the man!” an excited voice exclaimed, as a big policeman grabbed Babbit’s wrist. ‘ But he’s—he’s taken off my coat.” “Where'd you put it?” the officer growled, giving the wrist a wrench that caused all its owner’s fingers to ache. Babbit was so astonished that he could not speak for a few seconds. His jaw dropped, and refused to close for the enunciation of words. ‘“Come on, now—be quick! Where’s that coat?” The officer emphasized the question with another twist of the wrist that brought a groan from Babbit’s lips. It also brought back his power of speech. ‘“ Why—why,” he stammered, “I gave it back to Mr. Moore.” The excited man, whom Babbit now recognized as the one who had showed so much interest from the window of the restaurant, looked angrier and more ex- cited than ever. ‘The policeman nearly broke the Southerner’s arm. “None of that, bo,” he cried. ‘ You tell us quick where your pal went with that coat, or we'll know why.” ‘“T—I don’t know where he went. [ was just starting after him.” “Well, how in Tophet could you start after him if you don’t know where he went?” the policeman sneered. ‘He went that way,” and Babbit pointed. “I don’t know where.” ‘“Humph!”’ grunted the officer. ‘‘ We'll just take him to the station, Mr. Moore. I guess we'll get somethin’ outer him there. Will you come along to make the charge? ” “I certainly will,” the man replied. With another wrench on the wrist the officer slipped a shining band over that {”» — THE ARGOSY. bruised member. Babbit was too fright- ened to talk. Only one idea seemed to possess his mind. He was being ar- rested—taken to jail like a thief; he was accused of robbery, and he did not see how he could ever prove that he was not guilty. : And this was the end of the fortune he had expected to make in the country’s metropolis. His meditation ended as he was jerked up before the sergeant’s desk in the po- lice-station. ‘Got this one almost with the goods on,” the policeman announced as he sa- luted his superior. “It’s one of the gang that has been workin’ Harlem. ‘This here gentleman saw him standin’ in front of the St. Jarvis with his overcoat on. It was taken three nights ago.” ‘“Where’s the coat?” the sergeant in- quired. ‘That’s where the young devil got the best of us. He shifted it to a pal while Mr. Moore came after me.” ‘“ Humph!” and the sergeant looked puzzled. He had once been -on the plain-clothes service, and had an interest in details. ‘ Looks as though he’d been expecting to get caught. Are you sure, Mr. Moore, this is the man you saw?” ‘Sure? Of course, I’m sure. Why, if I didn’t remember his face, I couldn’t help noticing that hat. when it was on top of a two-hundred-dollar overcoat.” Mr. Moore was honestly indignant that his identification should be ques- tioned. “Well, let’s have your pedigree, you young rascal! What’s your name?” ‘Walter Babbit,” the Southerner an- swered in choking tones. He wished he could think of some other name wherewith to keep his own family from the disgrace, but he couldn’t do so on the spur of the moment. é¢ Age? ? Twenty-two.” “Where do you live?” “Simpson Corners, Georgia,’’ Babbit began; then corrected himself: ‘‘ That is, [ lived there till I came here to look for a position.” “What kind of position were you looking for?” the sergeant grinned. ‘I studied bookkeeping at the Atlanta Business College.” CommicoookxSsCoOnn