Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

MON By GILBERT RIDDELL the spacious porch of the Hussars’ “ Club. Colonel Sandy had been a hussar in his youth, and would be a hussar until he died. Although the Georgia Hus- sars had been disbanded for some years as a military organization, the club, their tro- phies and traditions, still lived. Colonel Sandy was as much a part of that institu- tion as its battle-scarred Confederate flags and antiquated guns. The colonel uncrossed his legs, smoothed his trousers over his knees, and recrossed his limbs. His trousers had no crease; they had been built that way, and all their pre- decessors since 1880, when the colonel had been presented to the then popular dandy, the Prince of Wales. There was a buzz of excitement this af- ternoon in the usually quiet club. A gen- tleman of very good family had met and settled a difficulty of long standing with another gentleman of equally good family; Cte sec SANDY DUNCAN sat on 798 the latter, being slightly slower in his move- ments, had passed on, leaving us something to discuss for many days to come. On the table between us were two tum- blers containing ice, mint leaves, and a liquid that would awaken in the unregen- erate fond memories of old Bourbon days. As the colonel lovingly buried his nose among the leaves a twinkle came into his bright old eye, and he set the glass down in a way which told me that he was about to indulge in one of those reminiscences for which he was so justly famous. “This use of guns to settle personal dif- ficulties, sah, is all wrong,” the colonel started. ‘‘ My father, of course, had a great name in his day as a duelist, and I still have his silver mounted dueling pistols. But, nevertheless, it became a custom in our family to settle such matters with fists alone when possible. ‘Well, on our rice plantation we had a foreman by the name of Dave Carroll, a O Eomichbooks (S@)