All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

88 All-Story Detective youngun. He wasn’t bo’n afraid. He learned it—from somebody’ or somethin’ —back in his chil’hood.” “But what can you do?” Mamber smiled. “Sometime ain’t noth- in’ you kin do. Most all of us is cowards *bout something, though we won’t admit it. Jes’ don’t fret, boy. Time comes when you really got somethin’ big enough to fight for, the Lord will give you stren’th —now go home and git your horn. It’s time for you to go to work.” Dan walked through the gathering dusk to his two-room flat. Somehow, when Dorothy had been with him, this neigh- borhood hadn’t looked so sordid. He hadn’t noticed the yelling kids or the wash hanging between the buildings or the smell of garbage in the alleys. The two rooms had looked pretty bad at first. But after they brightened the dark woodwork with ivory enamel, put new checkered linoleum in the kitchen and hung pictures on the bedroom wall, it looked a lot better. On hot nights, when Dari wasn’t playing, they’d sit out on the fire escape, holding hands and looking at the city. Some time Dan would play his trumpet, softly beside her in the darkness. Dorothy liked music as much as he did. He went up the back stairs, now, fitted his key in the lock. EL DUGGARD was in the bedroom, waiting for him. He was sitting in a chair, propped against the wall, leafing through a magazine. A spiral of smoke curled up from his cigarette which was burning the edge of the new radio-phono- graph combination Dan had given Dorothy for her birthday. The familiar sickness ran through Dan, making his knees weak, his mouth dry, leaving a pit of nausea in his stomach. “Hello, kid,’ Mel grinned. He took a long drag on the cigarette, laid it back so it would burn a new spot on the radio’s mohogany cabinet. He looked at it and at Dan and grinned again. Then he stood up. He was a big guy, towering over Dan three or four inches. He wore thick- soled shoes, high-waisted slacks, a loud striped green shirt with an off-color bow- tie and wide suspenders. He had crinky red hair that seemed to stand straight up in marcelled waves. The girls all went for Mel and his snappy line. The maroon convertible his Pa had given him helped some, too. “Congratulate me, kid,” he chuckled. “I’m about to be a happy bride-groom.” The sickness got worse inside Dan, only now there was a cold hand squeezing his heart, too. “Ain’t you interested who the lucky girl is? Well, I’ll tell-you. It’s Dorothy.” He peeled a stick of gum, wadded it into his mouth and grinned at Dan. “‘She—she’s my wife, Mel,” Dan stam- mered, his heart going like a trip hammer. Mel shook his head. “Ha-ah. Was your wife, kid. She wants a divorce.” Dan blinked. “No,” he said. Mel pursed his lips. “Well now,” he sighed. “Dorothy said you might be a little stubborn. She told me Td have to come around and convince you.” = “She was happy with me until you came along,” Dan said past the tightness in his throat, blinking rapidly to keep the hot fog out of his eyes. He thought about the fun they’d had to- gether, furnishing this little flat, saving money for records, How they’d planned to buy a second-hand car, soon’s Dan got a job with a bigger band. “Exactly,” Mel was saying. “But you see, I did come along. So now she ain't happy with you any more. She wants to marry me.” “No,” Dan said. “She doesn’t know what’s best for her. She’s young and kinda crazy. But she’d be miserable with you. Go away and leave us alone, Mel. Go away. The grin was spread all over Mel's GomiGcooo S (©