Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

RED “ Suit yourself,” replied Nora indif- ferently. ) “Oh, I can make it. Look at what Lindbergh did, and Peary, and all those explorers. Sure, I'll do you the honor of calling on you when I have located the right kind of a job. Till. then, Rose of Shannon, fare thee well!” When he had departed, Nora sighed. “The poor nut,” she murmured; but there is a way of saying “ the poor nut ” which is not insulting; Nora sort of cooed the expression, and there was a tender look in her eyes. After all, she was Irish, and to an lrish girl there is something sweet and appealing about a good-looking young man who doesn’t know enough to be allowed outside the sheltering walls of a lunatic asylum. CHAPTER TI. MAN WANTS LITTLE HERE BELOW.” SSING on to the next platform, ladies and gentlemen, we have the honor of introducing to you Mr. Walter Downing, who is going to play an important role in this drama. Mr. Downing, at the moment of il- lumination by the flash light of the author, was eating a banana. To a casual observer it must be ad- mitted that he resembled a bum. He sat upon a bench in Riverside Drive, wearing a suit of clothes which looked as if he slept in them, and not only he but others before him had slept in them. No razor had touched his chin for lo! these many weeks, and a gray stub- ble three-quarters of an inch long gave the effect of a beard—in fact, it was a beard. He was the kind of man the big interests—the Gillette interests, for in- stance—-would describe as an undesira- ble citizen. His shirt was dirty, and if his collar was clean it was because it was made of a substance which HOT, 149 whitens and shines if you rub it with your coat sleeve after wetting it with your tongue—a celluloid collar, to speak plainly. His shoes had holes in the soles, and the uppers were holding on by a few shreds, but they would do until the next time one of the big apartment houses put the barrels of rubbish out on the sidewalk with an assortment of discarded footgear. Mr. Downing sat alone on the bench, although other benches were crowded, because there was something about him that prevented congestion in his neigh- borhood. He looked like an elderly vagabond, and in a regular town the sheriff would have locked him up as a vagrant, but if New York locked up the vagrants the tea dances and night clubs would be almost empty. Despite his lowly lot, the old man was happy, and he sang between bites of banana. It was the burden of his song which attracted the attention of another knight of leisure who was trudging along the pathway. Downing was humming: “Let precious truth and honesty Attend thee all thy days And turn not thou a finger’s breadth From the Lord’s most holy ways.” Lester stopped short, regarded the songbird, and smiled broadly. “If those are your sentiments, they haven’t got you much,” he observed. _ Mr. Downing smiled in friendly fashion, revealing that he had lost a couple of important front teeth. “What do you mean, much?” he de- manded. “ I’m all right. I just had my dinner and I got the price of a bed in my pocket. What more does a man want ?” Lester considered. “I should say a suit of clothes, a pair of shoes, a bath, a shave, and a dentist would do you a lot of good.” “Are you going to supply them?” demanded Mr, Downing. “ Not on your life. I have troubles COMMCEOOOKCS (E()