Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

By ROBERT ORDWAY FOOTE A NOVELETTE—COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE HEN I was pitched off that launch into the liquid mud that is known as the historic James River of Virginia, bystanders on the banks—if there had been any—might have supposed that I was the loser in some frightful contest of blood and muscle. And as usual, the by- standers —- which weren’t — would have guessed wrong. There used to be a song among us boys down south——maybe you’ve heard it—about “ Moonshine Medicine.” Touching little ditty it was, but its touch is gone. What with the Eighteenth Amendment boys rounding up the hillbillies faster than the tribes can build new stills, it is a mighty unpopular air, as a reminder of days that are no more and “ Ain’t never goin’ to be no mo’, nohow,” as our colored friends mournfully aver. I ought to have had more sense than to cackle the song. It shows what a diseased idea of humor I have. Even at the time ] couldn’t find it in my heart to blame the rest of the gang for their vigorous objection. They didn’t say a word, but there was a right pretty scrap. They came in force, to avenge my sin of bringing visions of tall, cooling delights—by singing about them on a hot Virginia day with not a promising thunder cloud in sight. Overboard I went, head first, clothes, hat and all, sent splash- ing into the twenty-foot deep channel. But the James isn’t wide, even if a gen- erous government does keep it deep. I came up looking like the chocolate-colored individuals who constitute a third of Vir- ginia’s population. Looking back over the stern with revengeful grins, the gang kept on chugging down the river, bound on a 662 CoOmicoooks (C@