Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

PROTECTING PRUE. cause there was So much woman in the mess and I’m hanged if I’ll ever get used to the woman element. But this is he-man stuff —if you can flatter Armstruther enough to call him that—and it’s different.” “Umum,” said Richard Flynn. The thoughtless and inconsiderate long hand of Dolton’s clock went on and on. Twenty-five minutes past the hour was recorded now-—and twenty-eight and twen- ty-nine. And the door opened and five chairs creaked at once; and more than five sighs followed as the sighers relaxed again. It was, after all, only a rather stupid look- ing small boy. In one hand he carried a letter. He looked about vaguely and, unimpressed by the gathering, shuffled then to the shirt- sleeved Mr. Dolton and proffered the en- velope. The restaurateur slit it with a greasy carving knife and for some time frowned heavily over the contents. “ This ‘ll be for you, Bart, huh?” he ob- served, as he extended an inordinately thick sheet of rough-edged stationery over the corner of the counter. Bartley accepted it with a neurotic jerk. “<Dear Mr. Dolton,’” he muttered “<7 have been detained. Will you be so very good as to wait for me until nine o’clock?—-R. Armstruther!’ Well—” “ Whyn’t y’ bring that in at first, kid?” Dolton queried. “What d’ye mean at first?” the boy asked. . ‘“Gwan! I seen you standin’ across the street near fifteen minutes before y’ came in with it!” “ Ah, how d’ye get that way?” the child wondered pertly. ‘Where'd you get this, kid?” Mr. Greer put in. “T was sent t’ deliver it.” “ Want an answer?” “ For what?” Color was rising in Bartley’s cheeks. “Who gave you this letter?” he de- manded. “ “ Gave it t? me?” the child echoed. “Tt wasn’t a lady, was it?” Flynn haz- arded. “A young lady—a dark young lady with—” “Say, that brat’s not as dumb as he 907 looks!”’ said Bartley Greer, rising sudden- ly and reaching for him. ‘“ We'll get to the bottom of this before we let him go and—” With one small boy pitted against so many active adults, it verged on the in- credible, of course, and still—it had come to pass. Young Mr. Greer had extended a swift and powerful hand; over his counter Dolton had also made a commendably nimble swoop in the child’s direction; still more, two of the unshaven, scenting the demands of the moment, had plunged for- ward quickly enough—yet far from being a captive, the stupid-looking little boy was no longer even of that company! One brief, derisive laugh had come from him and he had finished across the sanded floor, toward the door and through it. Now, rapidly diminishing, the patter of feet was going up the block. On the top step, which he had reached almost before his hand ceased its grasping, Mr. Greer stared after him and then turned back with a scowl. ‘“* Gone around the corner; couldn’t catch him now without starting a riot, I suppose,” he grunted. ‘ Steve, are you dead sure that boy was hanging around before he came in here?” “Why, absolutely, Bart!” said Mr. Dol- ton. ‘I lamped him first when he picked up a cigarette butt and lit it, quite some time ago. I was wondering who he was, because I know most of the kids in the neighborhood now—gettin’ to be a regular little home body. Seemed to me he was on them steps across the way and watchin’ the warehouse clock on the corner, and just about the time it struck half-past eight he got up and—” “ All right—somethin’s gone wrong again, then!” Bartley gritted out, with a wild little smile. ‘‘ Come on, Dick!” “Well, ain’t you waitin’ for this bird?” Dolton inquired. “No! If he should happen to come in, you know what to do with him, Steve. You can’t mistake him. Dick!” Mr. Flynn, in some bewilderment, per- mitted himself to be dragged from his chair. They reached the street almost at a run. “But he may—may still be here!” Richard protested, as they sped up the Oo Comiclbooks CO