Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

420 So he opened his safe and stowed away the larger of the two packages he had been clutching ever since leaving the house, and heaved another sigh of relief as he closed the door and twirled the knob. Those in- fernal gems of Irma’s were at least relative- ly safe in there. Dorothy’s trinkets, in the smaller pack- age—oh, there was no need of rushing out madly to dispose of them. One never knows; Providence has a way, now and then, of playing the most delightfully un- expected tricks. Even if it was not yet due, several people did owe James Cran- ning real money. Who would say with certainty that one, or even all of them might not turn up this morning, and insist on paying? When the noon whistles began to blow, young Mr. Cranning understood that he himself was the one who could say this with entire certainty; he sighed heavily, for this last hour he had been going farther and farther into the depths. Dorothy, you see, had deigned to break- fast with him, and a grim and silent and altogether harrowing meal it had _ been. Dorothy had elected to limit her remarks to one query as to the number of lumps in his coffee, and a request to pass the butter; and James, who had arisen with a headache and no overwhelmingly sweet temper, had responded exactly in kind— for which he was sorry now, of course. He might better have seized the occa- sion to reopen his case. Indeed, once at least, he had been on the verge of doing just that and then, glancing at Dot, had held his peace. There had been something queer about Dot—something new and un- comfortable, something darned peculiar, the like of which her husband had never seen before, and—oh, well, this wasn’t get- ting to the pawnshop, was it? Curiously, perhaps, Mr. Cranning had never seen the inside of a pawnshop. He was an observant person however, and he knew that the nearest one was three blocks west of the office, and then two blocks north, and a big establishment, too. Tt was his impression that a Hebraic gen- tleman with long gray whiskers and a black skull cap would greet him behind a dirty, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. caged counter, and that there would be a long and humiliating argument from which young Mr. Cranning would emerge with two or three little tickets, and something better than nine hundred dollars in money. This place, though, altogether noncom- mittal as to the screened windows in front, had a door on the side street marked “ Pri- vate Entrance,” and through this door James Cranning went swiftly and furtively, for he felt sudden and acute need of all the privacy that might be inducted into a painful situation. ' There was nothing terrifying about the room he had entered. It was only a square place, badly illuminated, and not too sweet of atmosphere, with two or three open booths along the walls, and a bald-headed man sitting over there at a desk. Mr. Cranning was rather inclined to think him Trish, although he might equally well have been German, or French, or from Vermont, or North Carolina. “Got some trinkets for you!” James an- nounced with a jovial laugh, for he had rehearsed this entrance mentally. “Umum?” said the bald-headed man and arose, unhurried and unsmiling, and switched on the light in a booth. Silently, he motioned James to a chair. Silently and without emotion he dumped Dorothy’s little possessions on the greasy velvet pad before him—Dorothy’s! Young Mr. Cranning winced so sharply that the other glanced at him. Then he stuck a loupe in his eye, and examined the gems. ‘“Family’s in—ah—a little financial jam!” James stated. ‘“T see,” said the other. “Need all we can get on those, you know.” “T see. How much do you want?” “Oh—call it a thousand dollars on the lot!” Mr. Cranning said, with the air of one quite determined not to impose tefms too harsh. This time the person failed even to see. He examined further and more carefully. Then, indicating the pieces, he said boredly: “Three hundred—two fifty—one fifty.” “ But that’s only seven hundred dol- lars!” James gasped. | GO NOOLKS ANC (C@)