The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

FLIRTING WITH DESPERATE HAZARD. waitin’ for you to start in. Betcha I can lick you!” Very probably the boy could, his own hands helplessly bound this way, Lewis ruefully acknowledged to himself. If only they had been free—well, the spanking he would have administered to this juvenile stumbling block in his road to liberty would have been a fin- ished piece of work, and no mistake. But now he must rely on his wits alone to deal with the youth. Just then the latter started forward, small chin grimly stuck out, one grimy fist doubled. And instantly the reporter fell back, collapsing limply against the lamp-post, his jaw fallen weakly open while his eyes rolled in their sockets. Happening to glance over the boy’s head the moment before, Lewis had spied the red and green lights of a drug- store of whose existence he had hitherto been unaware on the corner across the street. An idea was suggested to him. “Son,” he gasped, addressing the newsboy, who had stopped, surprised, before him. “ Quick, now—answer 141 up! Do you want to make a dollar, easy money?” The lad stared at him, speechless. “Do you want to earn a dollar for just a minute's work?” Lewis persist- ed. He spoke thickly, and as though with difficulty, panting out the words. The boy drew back, mingled per- plexity and awe gathering in his wide- eyed countenance. ‘““ What’s the idea?” said he. “Weak heart,” the reporter breath- lessly explained. ‘“ Acts up with me every once in a while. Subject to at- tacks like this. It’s the third I’ve had in a week. I’m in a bad way. Run across to that drug-store over there. Go inside and get somebody—get ’em here quick. When you comnie back, I’ll give youadollar. Will you do it?” Eagerly Lewis watched the news- boy’s face. If only this ruse would suc- ceed! It was his last chance. The reporter held his breath. Was the lad going to, be taken in by his dodge, or wasn’t he? A minute more would tell. (To be continued.) ' BEFORE HER MIRROR. I pAUSE before her mirror and reflect— (That’s what the mirror does, I take it, too) Reflect how little it has known neglect, And think, ah! Mirror, would that I were you. She has no secrets that you do not know, You and this crescent box of poudre de rose, And even these long curling-irons can show Much evidence of use, yet naught disclose. Here when she smiles you know it is her teeth She’s putting to the test ere she depart For the gay revel on the lawn beneath, Or moonlight ramble that may break a heart. Here she may blush until she, red as wine, Knows that her triumphs have not ceased to be. Here when she frowns (and looks still more divine) You know, wise Mirror, that she thinks of me. Tom Hall. CoOMmicbook C©