Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

N Paynetown a scrap of gossip was eager- | ly snapped up, and munched over and over, that no particle of flavor might es- cape. What wonder, then, that it was almost too much for mental digestion when Mort Greeves’ wife ran away with the city fel- low? The town buzzed and buzzed. The still-works, as they called the chemical plant, buzzed too. Both Mort Greeves and the city fellow —whose name was Canfield—were em- ployed at the still-works. Mort had oper- ated one of the big stills for years. Can- field had blown in nonchalantly six months before, with impudent good looks and gaily colored silk socks. His quick wit had soon won him good pay. But his airs had never made him a favorite with the men. The morning after the tragedy Mort appeared at his post as usual, only more grim, and oddly silent. ‘“‘ He’s been at the drink again,” opined old Casper Judd, who washed stock-pots. ‘“‘ And a Greeves can’t stand the drink. It makes a brute of a Greeves, does drink.” ‘“‘ Well, who’s to blame him?” spoke up Mrs. Buttry, who cleaned young Payne’s office every morning. ‘ With Linda servin’ him thataway?”’ Caspar merely shrugged. But an acid voice took up the argument. ‘“ Trust a female to condemn her own sex! Mort had no call to lose Linda, not a mite.” No one liked sour old Ed Zook very well, but he usually hit the nail on the head. “ He could of kep’ her easy enough, if he’d been a mind te. But he was peeves, on account, II3 8 Arcosy Ae Hy Mella Russell M°Callum of gettin’ stung with a gold-brick from that there mine agent, and bein’ peeved, he set to drinkin’ Saturday nights. An’ you can guess what kind of a Sabbath Linda put in, after them Saturday night sprees. For, like Caspar said, no Greeves can’t stand drinkin’. He musta give the poor girl a swell time of it! But he was always smart enough to get sobered up by Monday, till now, so young Payne wouldn’t catch on.” Mrs. Buttry persisted virtuously. “She took him for better ’r worse. She shoulda stuck, anyways.” “ Fiddlesticks,”’ ‘I don’t blame her. commented Ed Zook. Only thing I’m afraid of, she'll find she’s jumped from frying-pan - into the fire.” “Ye-uh, that’s what beats me,” agreed Peter Wimple, the foreman, mildly. ‘“‘ What can a nice set-up girl like Linda see in that cigarette-lip, silk-sock dude—barrin’ all thought o’ right ’n’ wrong?” Suddenly the talk subsided. Young Payne made his usual crisp entrance, cool, well-groomed, curt. He gave his erders for the day to Wimple. And before he left he shot a frowning glance in Mort Greeves’ direction. 3 Presently, before the talk began again, Mort Greeves was seen to leave his still in the far end of the room. Slowly he ap- proached the group. There was an omi- nous something about him that made them catch their breath. ‘ Cackle away, old hens,”’ he said quietly. ‘‘ Hash it all over good!” Nothing more happened. But they all COmiclbooks Cc C©