Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

oes rym . << 2 2 Im SS = —_ — ” ~ og 634 adventurer with a machete dangling on his hip slipped through a dingy shado-7y callecita on Bottle Alley to the secret chambers of an Assyrian pawnbroker and receiver of stolen goods. After examining it the pawnbroker quite cynically threw the necklace back to the stranger and: curtly snapped. ‘ Fifteen hundred dollars.” “Oh, make it two thousand,” the other bargained, “you know it’s worth six times that much to you—” ““Not a penny more,” said the truculent one. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it I'll take it down to Estenoz. He is the best valuador of jewels in the whole damn republic.” ‘ Here,” the other grew dictatorial, “why Le} ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, don’t you guys get some sense? Go ahead and take it to Estenoz. Go ahead! And he'll tell you it’s worth twenty five thou- sand dollars, won’t he? And then he’ll ask you where you picked it up at, won’t he? And-you’ll say you forget and he'll call his brother on the phone. And of course you know his brother is Jefe De La Policia? “ That’s the trouble with you guys,” the pawnbroker ladled out philosophy. ‘‘ You know damn well if you keep that necklace, before long you'll give it to some woman who won’t appreciate it. Why don’t you get some sense in your head and take the fifteen hundred bucks I am giving you—”’ ‘All right,” the La Garta person de- cided, ‘Ill take it.” And he took the fifteen hundred bucks. Le] MY OWN KIN T° longing I am suddenly a prey— I want to talk to my own kin to-day; ‘I want to brush aside the weary miles, And fill the silences with words and smiles. I want to hear them speak; to ask them whether They think this queer, uncertain kind of weather Will make a difference with next summer’s crops, . Affect the grass, or spoil the clover tops. I want to know if they have set Old Red Upon that nest behind the barrel in the shed ; I want to hear how much their apples brought, And just how many woodchucks Towser’s caught. We planted pear trees where the paths divide— I want to find out if they lived or died. I want to ask about old Mrs. Brown, And all the happenings of the little town. You say I could learn all these things by letter. * I know, but there would still remain the fetter Of that grim silence, which somehow, to-day Refuses firmly to be driven away. And all at once the city’s splendors pail, The city’s pleasures now no longer call, Since to my heart this longing has crept in— To-day, I want to talk to my own kin! Ida M. Thomas, EOMmIcHooks. co