Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

670 Her work was turned down, to her dismay; and no other editor wanted it. Now she had nothing, and owed room rent. Walt, touched deeply by the way she tried to keep smiling while the tale came from her lips, spoke up as she hesitated near the end. “You said yesterday that the papers would gladly print an account of how I had been robbed. You just go now and write that up and sell it. Run along. Pil repeat anything you don’t remember,’ ’ he added. She shook her head vigorously. “T can’t do that—it would be very selfish. You see, I know how you feel about not letting the home people ‘hear of what happened to you. I could get money by wiring to my dad, but that would be a confession of failure. If I can get those three dollars back, somehow I’ll manage!’ “ H’m,” said Walt. “I don’t know about getting a refund. This is going to need a lot of thinking. Here, let’s ‘move around a bit—my brain works better that way.’ He took her arm, and she did not attempt to deter him. To Walt it seemed that he had knowh her for ages, and everything was all right between them; perhaps she felt the same way. e ertainly a stranger, observing them as they strolled along the side of the room, near the wire “netting that pro- tected the exhibits, would have guessed them to be old friends. Walt had been somewhat troubled about his own predicament, but now he was infinitely more worried about the plight of the girl. As he saw it, it was up to him to help her out. But how? He doubted very much whether she could get her three dollars back. Still, they could try. And even if she did get the money— She interrupted his thoughts with an exclamation, and drew him to the netting. “There’s what I bought,” she said, pointing. “ Lot seventy-six.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. The stockings were neatly folded in a box, the edge of which faced them. They look like a bargain for three dollars,” Walt remarked. She leaned forward — suddenly. ““Why—why they are size ten! See the printing? I thought they were eight and one-half. I can’t wear ten!” Walt brought out his catalogue and skimmed through it quickly. “You made a mistake,” he chuckled. “There are several lots of stockings. Lot number ninety-seven is what you should have bid on. Three pairs ladies’ blue fox silk hose, size eight and one-half. You don’t want these, and you won’t be able to wear ’em if you've got to take ’em!”’ She laughed with him, and then was about to speak when there came an in- terruption. Joe sidled up to Walt, bursting with repressed excitement. “Say, bud, I got to get a nickel fer a phone call. Ask the lady if she’ll help us out, will you? Hustle!’ “ What’s up?” Walt asked. Joe pressed closer. “See that bird sitting in the second row—the guy with the checked cap pulled down over his phiz?” he in- quired. “ That’s ‘Mad Max’ Moran, bud, and the police have been huntin’ him fer two years. He’s a murderer and a dirty rat—he done me dirt once, and I been lookin’ fer him ever since I got the dope last week that he was pullin’ a hideaway here in Chi. He bust out of the county jail—killed a jailer and there’s five hundred bucks goes to the guy that turns him in. Get the jit fer me and I'll phone the police and split with you!” The girl was quick witted. Before Walt could say a word she opened her purse and extracted a coin. “My last nickel,” she said, and turned it over to Joe. “That’s the stuff!” Joe said. “ Now listen, bud. I don’t show in this at all, get me? I’m goin’ to phone the cops and then I’m goin’ to beat it over to the EOPMIC LOOKS (E@)