Adventure, February 1917 — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

126 “Here, what’s the matter? What’s the matter?” shouted William Bristol himself, terribly frightened, for gun-play was bad for his business and a death would have caused even the friendly police to clamp on the lid. : Jones, quietly, as if there were not a nerve in his body, almost listlessly, ex- plained: : “He pulled a knife and Mr. Everhard stopped him. Broke hisarm. -—— pretty shooting.” Bristol looked from me to Findley and back to me. Then he began abusing Findley. : % I poured a few drops from the half- emptied glass of ginger ale by my place at the table on to the smoldering cloth in my pocket and remarked to Watson that it was a shame because the suit was new. Then I interrupted Bristol. ‘Let me say a word or two, Mr. Bristol. This fellow Findley’s an ex-con. and I don’t know what all else, in addition to being a blackmailer. And quite incidentally he doesn’t even know the rudiments of poker. He seems to think he can draw again after the show-down—” I kicked the dagger away from beside the table—“and if you - want to call the police—” I was bluffing, but bluffing safely—“T’ll swear to a com- plaint for assault with intent to kill against him “But I want this—this blackmailer—to know that inside of a half-hour the lit- tle document I have here will be in the hands of the party to whom it belongs.’ Having said that and listened to Bristol’s protest against anybody swearing to any kind of a complaint, and to his round and _ satisfying abuse of Findley and apology to me for having had my life endangered in his establishment, I left. As I went out of the door Watson put his hand on my shoulder and whispered: “T take my hat off to you, Mr. Everhard. I didn’t think anybody could do it.” “What? Shoot like that?” “No. Fill a royal flush in a pot like that.” ; I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes and smiled slightly. He understood. THAT’S about all there was to it. I took a taxi and reached Miss Rankine’s a few minutes before one o’clock. She and the boy were beside Adventure themselves with anxiety and were worn with waiting and hoping against hope hour after hour. f They were too happy and relieved even to talk when I handed the certificate to Miss Rankine. She uplifted her face and said softly but earnestly: | “Thank God! It’s over at last!’ Both thought, and said, they were making a bungling of thanking me. Their words didn’t come fluently nor gracefully. But they were giving real thanks. I withdrew my hand from Norcross’—he had pressed it every since I came in—and struck a match, holding it up significantly. Miss Rankine, after a puzzled glance, understood, and unfolding her marriage certificate touched a corner of it to the tiny flame, and silently we stood watching the fire eat its way up and across the parch- ment, wiping out, reducing to ashes, the record of an impulsive mistake. ee I started to leave at once. I knew the wished to be alone in the first hour of full, complete happiness. | But Norcross spoiled the dramatic effect —it is strange how few people have in their own affairs the true dramatic sense; that’s why they must read novels and go to the theaters—by speaking of my fee and asking how I did it. I told him that I had had a long earnest conversation with Findley over a green- clothed table and after some arguing, he had begged me to let him bet the certificate against a few dollars that he could pick out a better poker hand than I could. *‘And you remember,” I said, “‘that as a usual thing, I hold pretty good poker hands. And though he had first choice he didn’t seem to know the value of cards. A slip quite apt to prove costly, you know. And as for a fee+supposing you send me post- cards from every place you stop while on your honeymoon.” So it is that among my few cherished trinkets I have a large bundle of colored post-cards from various cities in Europe, and particulalry from those in Italy. And tied up with these cards is a wedding in- vitation—the only one I ever received to the formal wedding of a millionaire. And I think just as much of it as if I had attended. But as a little present, I sent to the bride a specially designed clasp pin of enamel—a royal flush of hearts. . : (C@ ¥ COMME NOOL<