Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

Too Much Business business from us—played dirty tricks on us all—and now he’s getting his. It has al- most cured mother, just thinking of it.” Matt chanced to glance out of the win- dow. What he saw brought a long, low whistle from him. “See who’s here!”’ he exclaimed. “Shifter!” cried Kitty. “What does he want?” “T can guess,” chuckled Matt. ‘Would you mind, Kitty, letting us have the room a, while?” “Of course. I’ll send him to you.” She ran out. They could hear her curtly answering Shifter’s questions; then he came lumbering in. His face was set in anxious lines, and it was pale. To Matt he looked as if he had lost a score of pounds. ~| “I’VE been trying to get you for two ‘~ a days,” said Mr. Shifter, pointing an “s—? accusing finger at him. “Really?’’* Matt’s surprise was elaborate. “Have a chair. This is my partner—Mr. Mitchell. You know him, I believe. He’s in starch.” “Your partner?” Mr. Shifter gave Mit- chell a prolonged scowl. Mitchell returned - the scrutiny with the last insult a man can give under fire of the kind. He brought out his knife and began placidly paring his nails. “Huh!” grunted Mr. Shifter, and sat down.. Without more ado he produced a check-book, uncapped a fountain-pen, and snarled at Matt, ‘‘What’s your figure?” Matt permitted an expression of doubt to play upon his features. “Do I understand that you are asking me to——”’ But the other cut him short with a sav- age growl. “You know what I mean. I want that contract canceled. How much?” Matt turned to his partner. “Luke, he wants the contract canceled. How about it? Our organization is com- plete, and we are really only just getting into our stride.” ; Mitchell consulted the statement Matt had given him in the cab. He penciled on the back of it, the while Shifter sat. surly and silent. Mitchell spoke: “Tn round numbers, work orders turned in to date come to $29,000. That’s an aver- age of $1900 a day, or $114,000 for ten weeks. Commissions at twenty-five per | 131 cent., $28,500. Less commission paid to date, $21,225. That’s the way it figures out.” “What” hoarse scream. “It’s a hold-up! You——” “Stop it?’ Matt broke in on him sternly. “We didn’t seek this interview. You came to us. Mitchell, you’ve forgotten the jar- diniéres. We have five hundred dozen on hand—$2500. Add that in.” “Total, $23,725, announced Mitchell. “Never!” yelled the laundryman. His eyes bloodshot and protruding, his great jowls a-tremble, the sweat streaming down them, he was a lamentable picture of a man. Mitchell, disgusted at the sight, and mindful of Kitty’s arraignment of him, felt, nevertheless, some small stirrings of compassion for the creature. “T say, Matt,” he began. “We will cut off the odd hundreds,” Matt decreed, ‘“‘and not another cent. And we ‘ won’t parley with you again, Shifter. We are ready to go on with our contract. There’s $85,000 of work for you to handle yet. Speak quick. It’s two-thirty. The banks close at three.” Had Matt been an oyster, however bad, the laundryman would have swallowed him then and there to murder him. He slammed his check-book shut, and made as if to rise. But at the thought of eighty-five thousand dollars more of work he dropped weakly back in his chair. It affrighted him. If the Mr. Shifter’s voice was a. laundry ring should stick him up for in- — creased commissions? If damage suits should pile up against him with the infa- mous Williams at their back? If—it was enough! With a groan that seemed to rend his vitals, he wrote the check. VII IT WAS the next evening. Matt OO in a quiet way was celebrating his <# rise to opulence; he was having Kitty out to dinner in a cool Summer-gar- den by the river. Mitchell had invented important letter-writing which kept him at the hotel. “What do you say, little girl?’’ Matt was asking. “The organization is ready-made for you. Why can’t you and the others get together and push the scheme for your mu- tual benefit? There’s a way to do it.” “No! No! No!” broke in Kitty turbu- lently. ‘I’m afraid of it. See what it did AN = comicbooks ! (E(0) Pa \s 7 Nha >: hee) - Rg) ) So? RA