All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

GOOD REI ™RENCES. Pete checked him with an upraised hand. “Merely a viscount, sir.” “Listen, viscount. Play a lil cowboy pool ?”’ Pete considered. Clearly it would be in- considerate to treat so benevolent a host in a churlish manner; yet there was a lady all in lace, sitting in a gloomy summer- house among the trees, who doubtless awaited his return with impatience and per- haps alarm. ‘“‘T fear, sir,” he said, ‘it would be an intrusion upon your family.” The stout gentleman shook his head earnestly. ‘“* Nobody home, viscount. No family; no servants. Everybody gone away some- where. Everybody on a party. I’m on party; you’re on party. You and me play lil cowboy pool.” So saying, he linked his arm affectionately into one of Pete’s and led him firmly into the house. He led him through several rooms, pausing in each to press buttons, so that the apartments through which they strolled became ablaze with lights. No ordi- nary summer cottage was this, Pete learned, as his eyes appraised each successive revela- tion; it was a mansion. “ Family all in society, viscount,” con- fided the stout gentleman, as he clung to Pete’s arm. “ All hittin’ high spots. Wife, society; daughter, society; son, society. Old man, cowboy pool. C’mon.” While Pete Stearns was conscious of his own informalities of costume, it seemed that his host had not given the matter a thought. The purple and green coat of silk did not appear to have attracted his attention, nor the other garment, that was striped in sal- mon pink. If the stout gentleman owned the straw hat that Pete had discovered on the porch, he displayed no sign of recogni- tion. He was, in fact, surprised at nothing whatever. In the billiard room the shaded lights that were suspended over the table did not sat- isfy him, for he made a complete circuit of the apartment, turning on all the lights in the wall sockets. ‘“‘*Smore cheerful,” he explained. “ Find a cue, prince.” ““ Viscount, sir.” 121 ‘* My mistake, viscount. Find a cue.” Pete found a cue that suited as to weight. His host bowed until he rocked on his heels and assigned him the honor of opening the game. For some fifteen minutes they played in silence, the stout gentleman revealing a measure of skill and technique that quite astonished his antagonist. His difficulties seemed to be wholly in measuring angles with the eye; otherwise his game was. well nigh faultless and his control of the cue masterly. It was the eye difficulty that eventually compassed his defeat, although Pete was hard put, even with the employ- ment of all his own skill, to nose out a winner. With the shot that settled the game the stout gentleman flung his cue on the table and embraced his conqueror. “Viscount,” he said, “ you’re a prince. Firs’ man beat me cowboy pool all sum- mer.” ‘It was but an accident, sir,’’ said Pete modestly. “Nope. No accident. Strictly on merits. ’Sall right; pleasure all mine. Firs’ time ever stacked up against gentleman from Arabian Nights.” From which remark Pete perceived that his host had not been wholly insensible of his costume, although it was evident that he was in no whit surprised by it, nor did he regard it as in any way incongruous. ““T think, sir, if you will pardon me, that I should be taking my leave,” observed Pete, as his eye chanced upon a tall clock that stood in a corner. ““What’s hurry, prince? Have lil drink.” But Pete, even under the warm pressure of hospitality, had not forgotten the lady in the summer-house. He felt certain that she was becoming alarmed; he feared that she might even attempt an exploration on her own account. “Viscount,” observed the lord of the manor, once more linking arms, ‘ you’re greates’ cowboy pool player in world. Ex- traord’nary!. I’m next greates’. Any gen- tleman beats me welcome anything I got.” _ They had progressed as far as a library, where his host halted. “Any thing I got,” he repeated, with a cCoOmiclbooks C©