The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

126 “ Don’t tell us!” he rasped. ‘ You're the feller that shot him down here on Nicollet Avenue. It was your gang that had that autermobile come up and sneak the body away—and you don’t know nothin’ about it! G’wan, what d’ye think we are—a couple o’ mutts that ain’t got nothin’ but space-to-let in eur domes? G’wan—lI’ll t'ump you one!” The reporter stumbled to his feet. “Tf I had my hands free,” he began, threateningly. But the fat man interposed a grimy palm. He called sharply to his friend: “You fool! What’s the matter with you—lookin’ to queer the whole game? You sit down, or I'll put one across on you myself!” Brady glowered. Then he shrugged, kicked his chair around, and dropped into it. Lewis, still on his feet, faced Pete, the intermediary. “ Now, out with it!” he demanded. “This game of yours—just what is it? I want to know, without any more non- sense, what you're up to with me. Un- derstand? ” and he looked determinedly from one to the other. The fat man sat back 1n his chair. “Well, bo, we'll come right out with all cards face-up on the board. Guess you must be wingin’ some in your mind to get at why we pulled you away from them broadsoles; what int’rust we had in the little affair for which you was being pinched this evenin’—huh? You ain’t ‘made’ that yet, have you?” Lewis shook his head. “No,” said he, “‘ I haven’t.’ Pete looked across at Brady with a meaning nod. “ Well, what’s the answer?” the re- porter urged. “You never laid eyes on us before to-night,” the fat man went on, facing him again; “ you don’t know nothin’ about the business that brought us over here to this city to-day. We’re from St. Paul, my pal and me. St. Paul— that mean anything to you?” THE ARGOSY. ‘ Nothing much,” Lewis replied. ““ Nothin’ much,’ says you,” the stout one nodded. ‘ ‘ Nothin’ much’— a good, safe way of answerin’ that it only means the hailin’-place of the man you killed here on the streets of Minneapolis a few days back! ”’ Lewis opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had changed his mind about speaking. “St. Paul is where Perkins came from, ain’t it?” his interlocutor con- tinued. “ Perkins—? ” “Yes, Perkins, Perkins—John S. Perkins. Who else d’ye suppose? ” and Pete spat into the cuspidor beside his chair, eying the reporter narrowly. “‘T understand,” the latter answered, “that that was the home of—of: the man for whose supposed murder I was being taken to jail to-night, yes.” Brady flounced petulantly. “Stringin’ along like this,’ he growled, disgustedly, “’stead of get- tin’ down to straight talk!” “The way we see it, cul,” proceeded the fat man curtly, “ you want to drop all that line of gab. That injured in- nercence dope—no need of pullin’ that. with us. We're all in the same line. If we’re goin’ to do business together, why—nix on the stall any longer.” Lewis leaned against the head of the bed, crossing his feet. “T’m still waiting, you know, to find out what that business is,”’ he remarked. “Well, you'll know it quick enough!’ snapped Pete. He bent for- ward again. “ Here’s the way things stand. We was hired to do the same job you nabbed away from us—now, wait!” ~ Lewis’s lips had parted. “T didn’t say, did I, that you took the job away from us knowin’ you was crabbin’ somebody else’s lay? No mat- ter about my pal, here. He thinks you cut in and grabbed the thing out of our hands, deliberate. My opinion is, you didn’t know we was workin’ on it at all. Now, how about that? ” Lewis hesitated for his answer. oO CoOMmicbook CO