Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

DAMMING HAIRPIN CANON, she said, “ just as I warned you. This Crawford, realizing that he had no chance to underbid you, got them to change the proposition. “The commissioners held a secret meeting and altered the specifications so as to provide for pumps of a thou- ' sand gallons less capacity, and then re- advertised for bids on that basis in a little obscure country paper that no- body ever sees. Crawford was the only one who knew about it, and of course there will be no other bid but his put in.” ** But—but they can’t do that,” ex- postulated Norman _ incredulously. “Pumps of a thousand gallons less capacity will never furnish the water required. I figured on the very lowest possible—” “What do those crooks care for that?” Molly interrupted impatiently. “It’s their graft they are looking out for. “And the nature of the contract is not what matters now,” she snapped. “That can be straightened out after- ward. What they have done is all legal enough, my lawyer says, and the only way to beat them is by submitting a lower bid.” “ Submitting a lower bid?’ Norman stammered. “ Why, Miss Todd, it took me a week to get up the one | submit- ted.” “Maybe?” She bit the word off ironically. “ But it isn’t going to take you a week, is it, merely to scratch out the old pump capacity in your bid and to put in the new figures? That’s all you'll have to do except to change the total charge. “ And you don’t need to be extra careful on that score, for be sure Crawford named an amount high enough to cover a sweet lot of graft. “How long will it take you,” she questioned anxiously, “just to make those changes?” “ About fifteen seconds,” answered Norman, catching something of her in- fectious spirit. 21 “ All right, then. We’ll beat them,” cried Molly Todd, and sent the indi- cator of her speedometer up another notch. But the hands of the clock had also been advancing, and it was now only a minute to twelve. They were within the town limits by this time, though, and racing at un- abated speed up the main street. The domed cupola of the courthouse loomed just ahead. And then a big, slow-moving truck lumbered out right in their path. Molly had to jam her brakes down hard and come to a full stop to avoid crashing into it. Before she could get going again and swerve around the obstacle, the slow strokes of the town clock began to toll twelve. One, two, three— They were in front of the courthouse now, and Nor- man was springing out to the curb. A group of Molly’s adherents, headed by Big Bill Davis, pressed around him and began hurrying him up the steps. But it was too late. Out the door of the building came Crawford with an air of jaunty triumph. He grinned as he saw his belated rival, and signifi- cantly patted his breast pocket to show that he had landed the contract. That grin faded, though, as an angry growl arose from the forty or more de- termined looking men of Molly’s party who were mounting the steps; and the faces of Fenton, Creel and Thornley in the doorway behind him paled visi- bly. z Big Bill Davis turned impetuously to Molly. “ By golly, ma’am, are you going to let “em get away with it?” he demand- ed, dropping his hand to a bulge under his coat which looked suspiciously like the butt of a forty-five. “ We all know it’s a crooked deal. So, if you say the word, Miss Molly, we’ll make *em change it.” What might have happened then is hard to say. Molly’s face was set, her (EO) ~comicbooks ~~