Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

d twenty-five an hour. Springtime sat ith his hand along the back of the seat / where he could grasp the lad’s collar at the slightest movement. He did not dare to look at Kitty often, nor did Kitty dare to look at him, but when a sign post flashed by which said, “ Six miles to Wellsville,” Springtime stole a look at Kitty and saw that she had not missed it. Her answer Was an increase in speed. Johnny kept up his chatter, then in the midst of it stopped as dead as if he had been suddenly struck dumb. Springtime laid his hand as if by accident on the boy's arm, and looking at Kitty, saw that she was pale from excitement. Johnny turned back and stared at a clump of tall butternut trees which stood in the middle of a field—three trees placed in a triangle. He said nothing, but turned his head to stare at a big brick institution on a hill. Then a black water tower Swam up over the horizon. “Springtime, you snitcher!” yelled Johnny, and became a hundred pounds of ‘living fury. He was across Springtime in a flash and had the door open almost before the man could get his arms around him and drag him back. Springtime forced him back into the seat, and Kitty, white-faced, kept the car up to the top of its speed. He struggled like a wild cat, swearing at the top of his voice. ‘‘ Springtime, you low down dick! You you if it takes me all my life. low down tricks I ever heard of. Oh, gee, you're a fine guy, you are! You're a prince! If old Bender knew about this.” “I’m doing just what old Bender want- ed done,” said Springtime grimly. “ And take it easy, son! We’ve got you cold this and you might as well kick in.” nny kept up his struggling until he usted, then slumped down into the sed straight ahead of him. The rer a bridge with a poo! under iny sat up to look at it, for that vimming hole. A quarter of a 1 few scattered houses swam n a circular high (go — ' *” he cried; “ you I'll get even with Of all the ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. this! He’s one wise old bird is! a hick! Oh, boy! Ha, 1 Ba | laughter was a bit forced. To tell the rue the net was closing so completely around Johnny that he was almost ready to give up. Once in the town, Kitty pulled she did not know just where i iad’ was. . See this town?” said Springtime, who thinking of the long time Johnny had tricked him, felt justified in gloating a bit ‘See this town, wise guy? Well, it’s your home burg, this is, and I'm bringing you back to it, just the way Bender asked me to. Now where’s this street you live on?” “YT don’t remember,” said Johnny. “Find it, Pinkerton. You're so damned smart.” “Sure,” said Springtime, “Il find it. Drive along till we meet a police officer.” Johnny squirmed, but was quiet, and Kitty pulled up when they came to a traf- fic officer, and within a minute they passed a white house in the yard of which was a black iron Newfoundland with a white tip on his tail. Kitty halted a few doors beyond, set the brakes and looked at Springtime. ‘ ] think maybe Id better go ahead and break it gently,” she said. ‘‘ These old people can't take big news, even good news very calmly. You come along in about two minutes.” Springtime nodded, and Kitty, getting out without a look at the sulky Jad, walked in through the front gate. The blinds were closed on the front of the house, and a faint path led to the rear— a path which Kitty followed, and which, if she had been able to read it, would have told her the story of a mother’s heartbreak. In it were worn over heel prints of dozens of wanderers, for the word had gone forth that any man who could spring a gag about having been lured away from home by tramps as 4 lad was sure to get a big feed in that white house with the iron dog in the yard. Kitty tapped on the back door, and while watting read the names scribbled on the door frame: “ Frisco Mike,” ‘‘ New Orleans Fatty." “ Cigarette.” She heard a soft step within, ou uD to and the door swung open and the woman comicbooks.c