Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

THE COME-BACK. 2 “Now, now, you musn’t worry, judge!” And Potter raised a suave hand. ‘ It’s just worry that’s the worst thing in the world for you. It increases the blood pressure, you see, and if that pressure gets too high ~-overwork, worry, a sudden shock or any- thing of that sort—”’ <f The aneurysm may burst? Is that what you mean?” <9 Well—”’ “Damn it, man! Speak out!” The doctor spoke out; and Judge Van Blount rode home with the fear of God gnawing at his soul. In his ears were droning all sorts of cautions about diet, ex- ercise, let-up in work, cessation of worry, Heaven knows what. But through them all rang words as of destiny: “ And if it bursts, of course you under- stand the results are fatal, judge. Positive- ly and immediately fatal.” That night was a night of hell for him. VI. ALL the way along the line, hell was en- folding Judge Van Blount. Infinite times he lived and relived the bursting of that aneurysm. He made heroic efforts not to worry, for every hour of worry was another hammer-blow on his coffin; but with the specter of Duggan lurking in tenebrous backgrounds, ever his fears kept more terribly recurring. Obsessions gripped him. Over and over again he visualized the scene, the hypothetical moment when Dug- gan should reappear. That scene presented itself in various guises; but always the cen- tral figure was a dark, crouching, sinister creature. Infinite times he saw the hand that had rested on the greasy Bible; yet now that hand held a gun—with notches on the butt. Despite the fact that the notched gun lay in his own desk, the judge always saw it in Duggan’s hand, aimed at his rotten breast; and always he could see the trigger- finger tightening, tightening— “I’m going to get out of here,” the judge decided, and began talking California to his wife. Yes, he would retire. At his time of life, was it not wise? They had money 701 enough, and to spare. The law practice? Oh, he could sell that at a splendid figure. The Senatorship? Well, really, my dear, that seemed a little strenuous. A good long rest, California, orange-groves, roses and all that sort of thing. Don’t you think, my love? Gradually she thought so, too, and the judge began making plans. Yes, as soon as possible, he would retire. It got bruited about; and men shook their heads. ‘Breaking up, the old man is,” they whispered. « Odd, how he’s gone to pieces of late. Seemed solid as a rock, but you never_can tell. These ‘ solid as Gibraltar? fellows—” “he judge, meantime, had taken to carry- ing a gun and to having another in his desk at the office. That made three. And what was a little matter like the Sullivan law, a trifle like law-breaking, when his life was at stake? The drag of the gun in his pocket fortified, reassured him. Meanwhile, events were shaping. VII. A WARM, and moonlight, night that was, of mid-May, three months from the time when Judge Van Blount had read the Dug- gan item; not the kind of night a man would choose to die in. Springtide is no time to die. Autumn and winter more gracefully yield themselves to death; but in the season of life renascent, who does not cling to “‘ this little ball of mud we call the earth?” Even fear shrinks to more modest dimen- sions, on such balmy tides of spring. And the judge was almost forgetting to be afraid. Not that he had abandoned his idea of retirement. No; his aneurysm, his blood pressure demanded that. And _ his practice had been sold. Arrangements were almost complete. In another week or so, the Van Blounts would depart. The judge felt glad his last days at Waterburg had really been pleasant, been almost devoid of fear. After all—so many weeks having passed since Duggan had been paroled—what was there to be afraid of? “The vagaries of a moron like that!” CoOmmicoookxs (©)