Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 12, 1927 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

638 ‘Good Lord!” Marcy gasped. ‘“ Not— not the Harper that’s been haunting my office? Not the Harper from Hiram Cor- ners—”’ ‘High Center,’ Brad corrected. “* And I’m going to talk to you right now.” Jerome Marcy was grinning. “Son,” he said, “ ll talk to you exclusively from now till midnight, if you'll tell me how you got here!” “Come down here under the grand stand where we can be private,” said Brad, *‘ and T will.” It was not midnight, it was scarcely thir- ty minutes later, when Jerome Marcy had the whole story. He surveyed Bradley Harper with shrewd, appraising eyes. “You can have a job,” he decided. “ With your nerve, you deserve one. We'll try you writing advertising copy—” “T’ll need a little ready money, too,” Brad gasped. “ You get it,” Marcy chuckled. He wrote rapidly on one of his personal cards. “Take that to Miss Blythe. She'll see that you get what you need until next pay day. And now, would you mind telling me ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. who in Heaven’s name is Colonel Miller Hale Connaught, because I never heard his name before in all my life?” ‘But he knows you! Why, he’s your personal friend. He—’’ Brad told all he knew about the colonel. “And you cashed his check, did you, Harper? Check any good?” “IT don’t know. I meant to put it through for collection the day I came away to get married—but it got lost with my suitcase.” ‘Then I'll make you a little bet, my son. The check is no good, and Colonel Whatdoyoucallit Connaught is just a slick crook who goes around distributing letters of introduction to any easy mark that wants one.” And that, as Brad was to learn later, was the truth. | But Brad didn’t mind so very much. Thanks to Colonel Miller Hale Connaught, Brad had landed a good job with the Jerome Marcy Company, and also, thanks to the colonel, that day Brad was able to sign upon a hotel register, regardless of expense, “ Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Harper.” © THE END Le} U INDESTRUCTIBLE S that you, Death? Hello, old skate! Whatever you do, you have come too late! I’ve had a life brimful of joy— Good luck as a man, good luck as a boy. It’s been all right with me from the first; I’ve had more’n my share, so do your worst! You can’t take away the suns I’ve seen Go down in the west; or the silver sheen Of a starlit lake; or the mating call Of a drowsing bird when the shadows fall. You can’t snatch from me the soft love-light Of my mother’s eyes, or the blessed sight Of a child of mine in his romping play; Or my wife’s sweet lips at the close of day; Or the meals I’ve’ had; or the restful sleep; Or the joys of health which have thrilled so deep. I laugh at you, you blamed old skate. Whatever you do, you have come too late! H. Stanley Haskins. Gomichboo (E@)