Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

JUNGLE LOVE. Mog owner had not been afraid of killing off nine-tenths of the geese who laid his golden eggs, he would have ordered all Manhattan and Martinis concocted of straight wood alcohol and burnt sugar, but it paid him better to keep them alive and coming and—they came. Like sheep after a salt lick they always follow the lure of the booze trail. . They are the cocktail boys ‘and girls, and some of them will soak the labels off a varnish can. To the irresponsible and criminal, there is a flavor about breaking the law, a fascina- tion about dives whether they be located in a down-town cellar or a pseudo hotel; and, +. although the decoction Julie managed to swallow nearly had the same effect as a dose of mustard and water, the girl smiled gratefully across the table at Artie. Her stomach rebelled and knew darn well it was not having anything like a fair deal or a good time, but its mistress thought she was, SO, despite all protests, mind canqeeneg over matter. During dinner, which consisted mainly of a multiplicity of knives and forks and a succession of plates lightly burdened with edibles, but plentifully garnished, the or- chestra started up, and Artie quizzed the girl concerning her folks. Julie romanced a little; spoke about a rich uncle whom she had never seen and who might one day des- ignate her as his heiress, but in the main she spoke the truth. Artie pretended to believe the stery about the oil-king uncle and flattered the girl with lavish gusto. It was a great relief to him to find that Julie had no relatives who would bother him. As the café began to fill with a Mog-censored, chattering crowd of vouched-for newcom- ers, the old hands livened up, the orchestra get going with louder abandon, and carelessness became the order of the hour. Julie’s blue eyes, never noticeably dull or listless, brightened until they shone .with an enervated spirit of delight. No ‘one, unless they be sterile of lighter mood or harnessed to jaundiced, jealous gloom, can legitimately deny us our periods of playtime in sunshine and moon-glow, or even the distraction of a steam-heated dance-hall. The tired business man, the staid housewife and grandpop, all like to 395 lapse to occasional foolishness, and whether their tastes run to active participation in the merry-go-round of Coney Island, or the more vicarious enjoyment of some gorgeous roof-garden, one can sincerely say: go to it, brothers and sisters. There may be the next-morning headache, but there won’t be any clinging, nasty-tasting thoughts. Too great an indulgence in spicy foods and mental thrills are conducive to all . kinds of indigestion; but moral, contagious diseases have little inducement for growth in wide-open, public places. It is the screened and guarded hidden haunt that takes all the clean fun out of life. Vulture men and garbage-crow cannot thrive ex- cept in secrecy. Their setting must be a roadside or city-compassed Mog. Happiness being a comparative emotion, on higher planes with some than with others, and constantly springing from differ- ent causes in the same person, Julie voiced the truth as she felt it, when she informed Artie that she was having the time of her life. It is nothing to be amazed about either; for what. with the unaccustomed fumes in her head, the urging, now seduc- tive, now rioteus call of the music, the general atmosphere of insouciance, every nerve was atingle. No thought of yester- day or the morrow intruded. Every fiber of her being was vibrant to the surety she was all aboard for Joyville and traveling fast. She was living right in the moment and everything and everybody was couleur de rose. Her sky was the gilded ceiling, her horizon bounded by the walls of the café. All the women about her became magi- cally younger and prettier, all the men smarter and handsomer. They were a jolly, good-hearted bunch, all of them. Even Hamfist was nothing but a big, fat, good- humored genie of the feast. As for Artiep Well, there was no one to compare with him. He was the champion httle ole gloom-chaser. It was a treat to watch him. Five, ten dollars to Artie was no more than a whiff of fragrant cigarette- smoke. Artie, the Mog, everything was lovely. So—as Artie would have remarked: “On with the dance, and to hell with the rest!’ Exactly. That is where the foolish and COLMUC OOOLK (CO