All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

748 My negro made no effort to rise. He lay so strangely still that I began to feel chilly, when Campbell, standing over the huddled form, turned his face slowly toward me, and asked in still broader Scotch than he had used on the Randania. ‘Do ye no’ place ony mair value on yer life than to pick a quarrel wi’ this scum?” And indicating Batch, he looked at the bartender sharply. * Vl speak tae ye about this later, Andy. See that somebody take him hame. Where's Beans? ” As he put the question he caught my eye and jerked his head toward the door of a room, which a placard de- clared was ‘ Closed.” The negro stirred and moaned, but his evil-countenanced brethren made no move to his assistance. They were afraid of Campbell, uncertain of his attitude toward them, and eyed me up and down dully and questioningly. * Beans - was here less than half an hour ago,” the bartender replied to Campbell's question, speaking to the back of the latter’s head, as my queer friend moved in the direction of the room he had indicated. “* He said he was just going up to Tenth Avenue.” “Send him in tae me when he comes back.” I followed him into the room marked “ Closed,” in which were sev- eral small round tables, with cane-bot- tomed chairs arranged about them. Upon the walls were colored prints of equine favorites, jockeys and_ ballet- dancers. Campbell closed the door behind me, shutting out the parasitical crew in the family entrance, and, glancing about the room as if to be sure that we were to be quite alone, waved me to a chair. His actions were peculiarly deliberate and cautious, and he apparently con- sidered the dim light we had sufficient. The member of select society had vanished. Even the face seemed changed. His long tan overcoat might have belonged to a hack-driver, and his shoes were in keeping with it. THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. Following his blankly, I sat down. Then I found him looking down at me and smiling. ‘Tm afraid,” he said dryly, “ that if Margaret saw you now with that fearsome weapon in your hand _ she would hesitate about taking another cab-ride with you.” I put the razor which I had been clutching upon the table. ‘ That’s better,” he conceded, seat- ing himself opposite me and stretching out his great legs, revealed some of the awful checked suit he wore below his coat. “ A razor is a particularly deadly thing in the hands of a man like Batch, who. would have had as little compunc- tion about slitting your jugular as I would have in breaking a match. He does not come here very often, but when he does there is always trouble of some sort. ‘The last time he was here I told Andy not to serve him again.” “And I suppose the bartender had been obeying orders,’ I suggested, feeling that Andy was possibly being misjudged. “T collided with the beg- gar as he was going out, and he was as mad as the dickens. But how is it that Andy didn’t know who I- meant when I asked for Mr. Campbell?” My companion suddenly pounded the table with his fist in vigorous pro- test, making the razor dance. Campbell! Dinna * Campbell ’ here! My name is ‘ MacGregor,’ and them that ken me best ca’ me the “Gregarach.’ If ye would be safe hereabout, an’ mak’ freens an’ keep them, ye’ll remember that.” I suppose I looked bewildered and uncertain of how’ to take his advice. His expression became less thunder- ous. = Gregarach means the Chief Mac- Gregor,” he explained quietly. “ Even Beans Borrowman uses the word and hardly knows that it is Gaelic, or, if he does, is not sure whether Gaelic is a language or a country. “Beans, I may inform you, is one eyery movement me comicloooks.com