All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

746 Glancing about me, and finding that I was an object of interest for several pairs of eyes, probably because I had come out of a taxicab, and catching sight of a very suspicious-looking chap lurking in the shadow of the car-barn wall opposite, I turned quickly about and walked toward the river. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the fellow cross over and follow me! The street was practically deserted. Upon one side of it, for three-quarters of a block, there is no sidewalk; noth- ing save the blank wall of the car-barn, and on the opposite side, after one has passed a few dimly lit shops, the dull fronts of a few factories, a church and some wretched frame houses. Under a lamp midway I sighted the figure of a man hugging the wall, moving with a shambling gait toward me, while the soft pad of the feet be- hind came nearer as | passed out of the light of the shops. Naturally I hurried. For a mo- ment or two I had the wild suspicion of a trap, and, of course, remembered that Campbell had said I was a nui- sance to some people he knew, and that a life could be bought for a meal. Then the man in front lurched un- steadily out from the wall and imme- diately staggered back to it again. When I reached him a quick glance told me that he was very drunk; my ears caught incoherent mumblings and a perfectly distinct question as to the whereabouts of Nessie—whoever she was. I went right on. The padding feet behind stopped. Almost instantly there were sounds of conflict; first of words—an inter-_ mingling of strange oaths—then a sharp scuffle, terminating in a squeal of pain. It was none of my business, and I did not even turn my head to see what had happened. ‘The lights of a public house—dash it all, why can’t J write saloon the first time—on the corner of Eleventh Avenue were very inviting. Crossing the street as speedily as I THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. could without running, I made a bee- line for the place, which, being the only one in sight, I presumed must be the Clachan. The swing-doors gave very readily, so readily that I was in the midst of things, as it were, before I realized it, and bumped unpleasantly into a negro who was on his way out. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” I apolo- gized, and the fellow, first growling a thick imprecation, thrust out an enormous hand, grabbed me by the shoulder and jerked me out of the way in the most unceremonious fashion, and leered. “Yo jes’ a puppy dawg!” he in- formed me over his shoulder. ‘‘ An’ a yaller pup at dat. Be glaid ah don’ make sausage-meat ou’ 0’ yer.” Evidently spoiling for a fight, he opened his wide mouth and laughed till the sound filled the place, instantly drawing upon us the attention of the ugly, motley crew about the bar. They were a mixture of black and white, and to all appearances the scum of both; some bull-necked, huge- arined, slant-eyed brutes; others scraggy and sniveling; others lithe, quick and crafty; all of them possibly with a price hardly worth bothering about. They seemed to take my situation in at a glance, and their expressions indicated that they were watching for the sequel—to see what I would do. The black hulk of humanity who had: called me a “ puppy ” also waited. Of course I'm not a fool. I ignored the whole batch of them and appealed to the red-faced giant behind the bar. “T have an appointment with a Mr. Campbell—”’ I began, and was instant- ly interrupted by a burst of leering laughter in which the _ barkeeper joined. “Guess you’ve got the wrong shop,” he told me. “Ya-as, Mistah Puppy Dawg,” my insolent colored friend chipped in. ““Yo’ suah’s in de wrong pew. Lak crackers, Mistah Puppy Dawg?” comicloooks.com