Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

THE ULTIMATE HUSBAND. She looked in my face like she was going to cry, and, gosh, if there is anything that gets my goat, it is for a woman to start the sob stuff. Then I begin feeling sorry for myself, and when a fellow starts that there is not much hope for him. “Are you lonesome, little magnolia bud?” says I, patting one of her soft little lunch hooks. “Yes, big boy—we were meant for each other.” She puts her arms around me, and the lights went out, soft music, and-a close up before life’s camera. I don’t know what all I said, but I re- member sitting there holding her in my arms, looking into the future, and not a thought of Joe, only that I was glad he was out of the way. The next few days I spent most of my time at Octavia’s. The whole neighbor- hood seemed to know about it. We figured with what I had at the bank, with her house, and what she would get from the U. S. A. on the insurance, we could sit pretty keen—yes, we would even have a flivver. One morning in blows Joe from Dallas. Joe has that disposition, if he was rescued from hell and taken to heaven he would quit it and go back to hell to see how they were all getting along since he left. He was about as welcome to me as a prohibition officer would be in a Detroit cabaret. ‘What ho!” says Joe. “ Sorter got tired of waiting for written instructions. Couldn’t stay any longer. Sort of had a change of heart since I been thinking it over and see- ing the drab and seamy life in the big city. On mature thought, I think I will take Octavia. Not a bad little girl, don’t you think?” Joe was pulling off his patent gaiters. I begin to wonder how many years a fellow would get in Texas for manslaughter in the first degree. “Take her?” says I. “How are you going to take her? With or without sugar, paid or have her charged, and do you want her done up in a paper sack?” Joe did not seem to care for sarcasm. ‘Oh, I know you are sore, but in a love affair one cannot see everything in a min- ute. I have concluded that Octavia aver- 799 ages up fairly well, and with a bird like me at my age and never took any prizes in a beauty show, he can’t hope to have any Venuses going batty over him.” ** Joe, you left a quit claim deed with me a few days ago, waiving all rights to Oc- tavia,” says I; “ and you gave me a verbal power of attorney to settle up the matri- monial estate and keep you out of a breach of promise suit. I have cleared things up for you. I give you notice now that I have filed on Octavia, and all I want to do now is to prove up and get a clear abstract and title. The case was decided in my favor by you letting the suit go by default.” Joe regarded me quite a while and took long puffs from his pipe. I could see it was not sitting well with him. “ Mr. Sterling, when your parent buzzard pipped your shell and you were liberated into this world the Almighty was short on rattlesnakes, and it was your mission and errand to mingle among them and improve the breed. Long ago I gave up the idea of handing you a dose of strychnine, as I was fully aware the deadly venom in your sys- tem would counteract any amount of poi- son taken, and you would simply fatten on it.” “And,” says I, “if I had my choice for society between you and ten sacks of fer- tilizer, one end of this shack would now be giving forth a stable fragrance of commer- cial worth instead of the skunk atmosphere that floats to my olefactory nerves from your worthless carcass. What you lack in intellectual balast is made up by ponderous gall.” “When it comes to intellectual rating, Mr. Sterling,” says Joe, ‘‘ you lack a devil of a lot of having your tonnage. They tell me that fish develops the brain; in that case your set is so under average that I advise you to try the contents of the Atlantic Ocean—if that will be enough.” “Thanks,” says I. “If stewed okra was slipping over Niagara Falls instead of water, and falling in dishpans, the sound would be more soothing to me than your general mushy conversation at all times.” We goes on this way for several hours, and stops from sheer exhaustion. Then we sits and glares at each other for a long COMmicloooks (C@