Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

THE INNOCENT. 211 “You are at liberty to go home, Stephen! I know you have done the best you could.” “T can’t. I’ve got to stick. It’s a sort of duty. I'll have to turn bootlegger, may- be—learn the names and addresses of this gang — track ‘em down, through you or without you. If I only knew enough about you to know your sincerity!” She held out pleading hands. “Ts terror not sincere?” “Yes; but—somehow—you don’t look rumpled enough. I can’t understand you. You—you ought to run around more, and throw up your arms, and cry and wring your hands—I can’t explain it, but you don’t seem right, somehow!” . She was forced to smile. “T fear I lack your dramatic ability.” He stared at her, then gave it up. “Tl try to study it out. It’s getting too thick for my brain!” He pondered on the matter all afternoon, even while visiting the profane prisoner, who promised retribution. Steve tied him tighter and then visited the down town dis- trict, buying a blue suit and other things in a credit store and altering his appear- ance completely. But the problem re- mained unsolved. He was still studying that night while wondering whether or not to watch the capture of the moving vans far down on the southern roads. He sat alone in front of a cheery grate fire in the front room, watching the dancing flames. A clock struck eleven. A neighbor’s au- tomobile buzzed away outside. A distant street car rumbled up a hill. Then came a silence which made Steve aware of sub- dued conversation somewhere near the front wall of the house. Suddenly one of the voices burst forth in crooning song: “Mary had a little lamb With flesh as white as snow—” There was an interim while the singer seemed to be thinking deeply. Then: “But why should any one give a damn? Thash what I’d like to know!” ‘- Wow!” whooped a jubilant voice. “Thass good! Thass good! Say it again, Shorty! Hurry up, before we forget it!” Steve jumped up as if jabbed by a pin. ‘“My men—Shorty and Slim—up here? And drunk? Good fathers, does this city float in whisky?” He ran to the door and flung it open. The light from the hallway gave illumina- tion to a little green hedge near the side entrance at the right of the front steps. Above the hedge were the upper parts of two figures, one tall and one short, arm in arm, swaying. Both their heads were topped by broad-brimmed hats. “Come in!” rasped Steve. you doing here?” The pair huddled together. “We ain’t ready,” demurred the taller one. ‘We wanna be shober first.” “Come in!” barked Steve. The pair hesitated, turned two resentful faces toward the speaker, but finally rolled around to the front, ascended the steps, and stood together, hand in hand, blinking into the light. Both were round-headed, red-faced, and slightly bledry-eyed. Both were more or less shaven except for scrawny mustaches, Both wore shiny new store clothes off the counters of the Gray Butte Emporium. The taller visitor was slightly knock-kneed. The shorter was slightly bow-legged. “We was just hangin’ around,” ex- plained the taller, blandly. “What are ‘““We wanned to make sure you was safe,” added Shorty. “ You carried a lota money into this wild — hic — wicked city. We wasn’t goin’ to come in and shee you tid we was shober. Hey, Slim?” ‘“ Veh,” agreed Slim, = How did you get here?” demanded Steve. “How did we get here?” inquired Shorty. “ Per—pershever—aw, how do I know?” “Come in,” invited Steve, grimly. The pair consented, trooping past the doorway and gaping at the splendid rugs, tasteful draperies, shining furniture and glittering floors. Their hats came off. Paula appeared at the head of the inner stairs, bundled in a fluffy white affair full of pink ribbons which was mostly concealed by a cream-white lounging robe. “ What is the matter?” she ‘eilieds in - alarm. ‘Who are these persons?” comicbook Bite 3 F > wea j ee ee