Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 147: what you’re looking at

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

THE MILLVILLE TRICK. and habits of the eccentric widow, he had had his suspicions aroused to the point of following the man when he left the Palace Hotel. On the honor and word of a gen- tleman, the rascal had gone straight to the home of the Widow Stockdale. The man was of angular proportions, steady, steel-blue eyes, and a pair of shoul- ders that suggested possibilities. The rest could be safely left to the intelligence of the Millville police department. The Intelligence, his voice laboring under | restraint, spoke to President Whitcomb over the phone for two exciting and excit- able minutes. Then he turned on the bogus Peter Blum, neckwear and notions sales- man, with a whoop a Comanche Indian in . full war paint might have emitted and ad- mitted without shame. “Vever hear the beat!” he cried, his voice rising to a cracked falsetto, “ President Whitcomb says the Widow Stockdale just came in with a young clergyman and wants to draw her money. I told him not to give it up till we got there. Got a gun?” “No, but I have got a train to catch.” Jerry Bowker was not anxious to be in at ‘the death of his old pal. ‘ You telegraph me when his trial comes up, and I'll ap- pear. Besides, all the credit ought to go to you, and if I—” 3 “Tl telegraph you, mister!” interjected the impatient Intelligence, and pranced out of his office to summon the detectives, his courage, and his special car, according to his loud-voiced intentions. Twenty minutes later Chief Trickel and a goodly portion of the Millville police force burst into President Whitcomb’s private office and found three people there—the Widow Stockdale, President Whitcomb, and the Parson. 137 The latter turned pale at the sight of the officers, but his color came back when the chief-of police, sighting him first, cried: ‘Well, there’s Billy Stockdale! How are you, Billy?” : ‘You see,” said the Parson smilingly, turning to President Whitcomb, with his arm about a little old lady who looked like a daintily painted miniature in ivory. ‘‘ And surely mother can’t be mistaken.” ‘‘Such nonsense!” piped the little lady, with flashing eyes. “ As if I don’t know my own son that sent me this very money six years ago to keep for him till he got done wandering, as all boys will; when they have wild oats to be sowed. Give my boy his money, Mr. Whitcomb. I’ve worried enough about it, and I’m mighty ’ glad to get it off my mind. Watching it these six years has put more white in my head than Billy ever did, I’ll tell you that.” ‘“ We had reason to believe that you were a shrewd swindler,” said President Whit- comb apologetically to the Parson. “A traveling man who had been staying with us for some months told Chief Trickel a most amazing story—”’ “The darned skunk!” cut in Chief Trickel vehemently. “I didn’t know he “was talking about Billy Stockdale at the time. But’—hopefully—‘ he said he’d be back if I telegraphed when the trial came up. His name is Peter Blum, but when he comes back here it ’ll be Dennis! i The Parson smiled. “He won’t be back, chief,” he said. The fact is, he’s a lamester himself. That is, he’s a jail- breaker. IT met him in New York years ago.” ‘““No wonder you sent me your money, Willis,” shrilled his mother. ‘I'll wager a cookie that man was after it even then!”’ GOOD TEMPER HERE’S not a cheaper thing on earth, Nor yet one half so dear; ’Tis worth more than distinguished birth, Or thousands gain a year; Good temper !—’tis the choicest gift That woman homeward brings, And can the poorest peasant lift To bliss unknown to kings. Charles Swain. comicloool C@©