Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 139: what you’re looking at

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

GOBS ON THE MAKE. “Got that handbill safe?’ asked Andy. “ T’ll tell the world,” responded Han- kins, slapping the pocket of his middy. Then his eyes narrowed and he stared at the motor-boat which was chugging away from the ship. ‘ By golly!’ he exclaimed, “ain’t that Blacky?” The two men. ran to the railing. “It sure is,” agreed Andy. “ Look! He’s waving his hand to us. What's the idea?” They stared at the retreating boat until a voice sounded behind them. ‘“Here’s a letter for you fellows.” A member of the gunner’s crew shoved an envelope into Hankins’s hand and strolled away whistling. Hankins looked at the envelope with puzzled eyes, then he tore it open and took out a sheet of paper. As he read what was written on it, his face assumed an expression of mingled anger and amusement. “ Stung!” he muttered. “What is it?’ demanded Andy. “Listen,” growled Hankins, “ I'll read it to you. It’s from our little friend Blacky: ‘“ Drar BuppDIEs: “T put in for a transfer to an oil ‘tanker some time ago. My request was granted and I'll be gone by the THE 705 time you get this. I just wanted to thank you for the hundred and tell you how much | enjoyed your company on the voyage. I wouldn’t bother to show that handbill to the police if I were you—you see, | had it printed by a friend of mine in San Diego. It’s what we call ‘The Old Navy Game,’ see! ‘All you got to do is drop one of them handbills where some bird that’s got it in for you can pick it up—and from then on he’ll give you his shirt, thinking he’ll collect a big reward for your hide. Get me? “Well, no hard feelings anyway, boys. I really needed that hundred. Good luck. | : BLaAcky.” “ Why—the low-down, dirty double- crosser!” cried Andy. ‘ The damned swindler !”’ Hankins chuckled. ‘‘ What a smart baby! And what a pair of suckers we've been!” Andy did not enter into his merri- ment. “But, say,” he demanded, “what'll we do—” ‘* What’ll we do?” broke in Hankins. “Til tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna have some handbills printed showin’ me to be a murderer, with five thousand dollars reward for my car- cass, dead or alive—that’s what I’m gonna do!’ END 9A com (@) VOOKS: (F@)