10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

60 10-STORY DETECTIVE her eye with a corner of her apron; then she said, in jerky sentences: “Timmy’s been to the hospital today. I didn’t want to tell you, but he’s had several heart attacks lately. Well, they say he can’t live more than a few months more at the most—might even go any time.” Jim Phillips’ heart dropped, and as realization sank in, a lump grew to uncomfortable size in his throat. “But—but if he stops work, takes it easy ?” “They said that wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference—not to tell the poor boy—let him go on just as he has been. Oh, and you’ve done so much for him, Jim—done so much for both of us.” Everything seemed like a strange dream to Jim Phillips as he left the house after comforting the old lady. And Timmy, waiting outside with a welcoming smile on his pale face, made the lump in his throat return. Jim Phillips had planned quite a lecture for Timmy on the kid’s play- ing detective, but now he cut it as short as possible. Timmy grumbled and complained, but Phillips told him it would be time enough to study the detective business after he’d gradu- ated from high school. 3 “You’re going to start high school after summer’s over, you know, Tim- my,” he said. “But I gotta work all the time to take care of grandma!” The lump was getting worse in Phillips’ throat as he forced a smile to his face and said: “You just let your o]* Uncle Jim take care of that.” Adoration shone in Timmy’s eyes as he breathed: “Gee—that’s swell, Jim, ... Say, Jim, how’re ya doin’, now as you’re a detectif?”’ Big Jim Phillips smiled a bit rue- fully as he replied: “Well, Timmy my lad, the captain has given me one more week. Those two arrests I made didn’t stick. That River Street gang has a lot of pull and dough and mouthpieces and stuff like that. But don’t worry, kid, your Uncle Jim’ll eome through all right.” Phillips started toward his car. “Come along, Timmy, let’s get goin’. I’ll ride you over to the Arcadia, I have an assign- ment there, myself, later in the eve- ning.” Timmy’s hand fell on the plain- clothes man’s sleeve. “Wait a min- ute, Jim. After all you’ve done fer me, Jim, I hope I c’n help you. An’ I will. I’ll ketch a murderer fer you one of these days—I betcha! ... Say, Jim, why don’t you go in more fer finger- print stuff—yeah, that’s the biz to ketch crooks with, When I get to po- lice college, that’s what I’m goin’ in fer—fingerprint stuff.” The two got into the plain-clothes man’s auto, and the car moved off. Presently Phillips asked: “By the way, Timmy, why didn’t you tell me about the detective work you were practising with the captain?” IM PHILLIPS saw Timmy hang his head in embarrassment as he answered: “‘Well—well, I wanted to surprise you if I could get somethin’ big. Gee, I'd like to fix it so’s you could ketch a murderer, Jim—after all you’ve done for me. Betcha I could, too, maybe with a little time; if you’d only let me have the chancet.”’ Phillips’ lips tightened, and the lump in his throat became suffocating as he snapped sternly: “None o’ that! None o’ that. You’ve got your orders —see that you obey ’em!” “Y-yes—sir,” Timmy gulped.... The River Street gang began to ar- rive at the Arcadia Dance Hall at nine o'clock, and the floor became crowded. Jim Phillips sat at an in- conspicuous place among the many re- freshment tables crowded with sitters- outs along the sides of the dance floor. Occasionally he sipped a lemonade as he watched the gang members. Typi- cal mugs in flashy, expensive clothes —rats made rich by a score of bilking rackets. Everything was orderly; even the drunks were comparatively inoffensive, Even Spike Dugan, habit- “comicboo cS (<(e)