Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

| » Saad en Stairs they would have ater impression on Connors. et myself a new hat I don’t get in.” agement overwhelmed him as he n the vestibule fumbling for the bell. noment later the door was opened by tler whose dignity was in keeping with > correctness of his apparel. For a mo- mt it staggered Connors to find himself sonfronted by an array of brass buttons so suggestive of the police department. In fact, he missed saluting by a very narrow _ “Ts—the—er—” he began, edging nearer ‘the light so as to get the exact form of clerical address from his paper. _ “The—er—” He was forced to give it up. “ You know—his nibs—is he in?” | “Do you refer to the Rev. Bruce de Lisle?” asked the punctilious butler. “ Sure, tell his reverence that the Hon. Chink-nail Connors, of the Cracker Pot Café, has came.” Connors was trying to hide his embarrass- ment under a cloak of paralyzing good humor. “Yes, sir,” said the diplomatic servant, without moving an inch. “What you got—sore feet?” asked Con- -__nors, sarcastically. q “ T beg your pardon, sir. Whom did you say had called?” “They ain’t no ‘had’ about it. here now.” “Did you say ‘Connors’?” asked the horrified butler. “ Yes, sweetheart.” “Very well, sir. He’s in his study. I'l see if it will be convenient for him to grant ‘an audience.” «Fold on,” exclaimed Connors. “ Let’s set a new deck and play the game without joker. Come out on the pezaza and “the street. They ain’t no audience + to see him—just me, Chink-nail time the unusual commotion at d aroused the curiosity of Bruce ame down from his study. clai “ Well—well. I’m ~ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. cordial greeting and soon found himself — seated in the aforesaid study on the second floor. “Now, Mr. Connors, what can I do for you?” asked the clergyman, who, although a trifle nonplused by the speed with which Connors had accepted his invitation to call, was nevertheless prepared for almost any- thing. To his surprise, Connors was finding it difficult to proceed. Seated on the edge of his chair, he was evidently undergoing the tortures of uncertainty. First he would grin as if anticipating momentary recognition. Then his hands, as if conscious of their valued aid to speech, would attempt a dumb show of responsiveness. At last his mouth opened. ‘‘Y want you to come down and run the Cracker Pot for me while I go to Boston,” said Connors without batting an eye. The Rev. Bruce de Lisle was a man of keen perception. He seldom made the error of underestimating his man. Each human unit that crossed his path was to be met with an open mind, considered without bias. He had no idea what was behind Connors’s startling request, but would treat the man that had made it with respect. The psy- chological study alone would be worthy of his patience and further interest. ‘Why do you come to me, Connors, a perfect stranger, with a request of this character?” he quietly asked. Instead of answering Connors gave 4 hurried glance about the room, then he arose and opened the door leading to the hall, as if to make sure that the officious butler was not within hearing. “Mr, Bruce,” he began, ‘ you haven't got me, and you didn’t get me to-night when I met you in the Cracker Pot, but I’m square and I got the goods wit’ me. ! asks you fair—do you remember this?” Pushing back the chairs he cleared a small space in front of the now astonished clergyman. Then he threw himself into the aggressive crouch of the pugilist, and as light as a rubber ball, danced about what— to him— was evidently the focal center of an imaginary punching bag. His ease and grace were phenomenal: a veritable wildcat — comicbooks.com