Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

SEE AMERICA FIRST. imitation of that little rat-nosed, dough- faced, pink-eyed Pekinese pup, Sid Wiul- cox. That’s what you look like.” *“‘ Suppose I do?” “My Godfrey, you don’t tell me you want to look like that—that— Here, you c’mere. You been drenching yourself up so’s you smeil like him, too.” Aw, Wally, I have not.” “You have. I can smelt it on you. Per- fume!” ‘“.That’s just a hair-cut I got.” ~ * Don’t smell hke hair-cut to me. sir.” “ Aw, well, you know so much!” Wally suddenly turned his back on his huge and perspiring friend. He gazed from the window without seeing. That whiff of perfume was the last straw. By that he knew the affair was serious. Now, he realized how hard hit Bruce was by the charms of Fancy Burke. Fancy Burke, No, that light-minded, shallow, yellow-haired doli who tinkled with cheap jewelry and talked only of dances, men, and movie ac- tors; Fancy Burke, so suitably matched with Sid Wilcox, the soprano-voiced danc- - Ing expert; Fancy Burke, and not one of the whole Burke tribe.fit to lace the heavy woods boot of his chum! Gone glimmering were their plans, now. Gone the prospect of that happy, casual, easy-going vacation in which they would take apart their native land piece by piece and make it over to suit their fancy. Let the little car rust in its garage; what of it now? Yesterday he had thought all this a joke —one of Bruce’s typical, mad whims; to- day it threatened. tragedy. Fancy Burke had carved her initials deep in that toughly tanned and weather-beaten but honest, loyal, and tender organ that was Bruce Ray’s heart. . When Newell spoke again his manner was mild, almost pleading. “ Bruce, you— you, wasn’t thinkin’ of wearin’ clothes like that regular?”’ Ray answered with an anxiety almost pitiful. “ Why, ain’t they all right, Wally? All joshing aside, ain’t they good, snappy clothes—or ‘do I just look like an old he- foo! that’s gone and: got to thinking he’s 435 young because it’s spring-time? I—I kind of hoped—well, thunderation, I don’t want to look and act like a hick all my life. I— was going to the party Saturday night.” “To the dance!” &< Uhuh.” “ With a lady?” éé Uhuh.’’ “ Q-o-o-h, I see.’ Newell nodded slowly. He added: “ Why, you can’t dance, you old bull-moose!” ““She—Miss Burke, she promised to teach me, Wally. That’s why I got me them clothes. Of course, if*I aie like a fool—”’ Newell was touched. He took pity on his friend. He lied nobly. ‘“ Well, old- timer, I guess you won’t look any more like a damn fool than most ef the damn fools that go to those damn fool shimmy dancin’ parties. But it aint just the way I been used to seein’ you.” Ray was visibly cheered. His face brightened. ‘“ I—I got another suit in my turkey,” he said, reaching for his suit-case. - “ Mebbe you’d. like to see that one, too. A kind of blue outfit.” But Newell waved him to silence. ‘“‘ No,”’ he decided promptly, ‘“ not right now, Bruce! I—got sort of a headache, I guess. Don't feel right strong just now. You run along and dol! yourself up for dinner.” IV. WHEN his friend was gone, Wally New- ell walked slowly from the hotel, back into the second-growth timber, deep into the heart of it, where there was quiet. Natu- ralists tell us that the whale, mortally stricken, always heads for dry land. Some dim memory of a day when a whale was something else that lived on a beach and claimed land as home seems to draw him toward the beach to die. Wally Newell followed an instinct as deep rooted when he carried his troubles into the solemn sanctuary of the big timber. Some hours later he returned to the ho- tel, sought out Bruce, and led him away. Naturally they went back into the timber. On the way they said nothing. They flung themselves on the moss, and Newell (CO (C UL DOO (CO