Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 7, 1928 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

ASK HIM ing the role of a false alarm. Whoever else it was wouldn't know any less than you do about love matters, I’ll bet. Holy mackerel, I should think you would be afraid to go out alone with your conscience!” If I had been McGloster I would have been tempted to knock Bill down. For my part, I didn’t see that it was any of Bill’s business whether Mc- Gloster earned a living by raising guinea pigs or by giving advice to the lovelorn; but, of course, McGloster, in the old days, always had looked on Bill as a sort of father confessor. Further- more, Bill is almost old enough to be McGloster’s old man. “What would you have me do? Chuck up a good job and go to digging ditches?’ demanded McGloster. “ I’m the best conductor of the lovers’ col- umn they ever had on the Billington Courier—the old man told me so him- self one day. ‘ Your stuff is snappy and right to the point,’ he says. ‘I al- ways read it myself.’ ” “| don’t say you aren’t a good writer,” said Bill. ‘“ You always were one of the best press agents in the show game—our show went bang on the rocks a month after you quit us. “That’s the whole point; you’re such a danged good writer that they wouldn’t fire you if you demanded that they put you on a job that you could fill without endangering your own honest convictions or the lives of in- nocent young people.”’ Twenty-five years of selling corn salves and other high-class prepara- tions under glaring gasoline torches have given Bill a beautiful gift of gab. McGloster was favorably impressed. “Tt doesn’t make any difference to me what you do,” Bill continued, “ but I hate like blazes to see a good man going wrong.” “ Gol ding it, Bill, I never looked at this thing from your angle, but I'll be hanged if I don’t ask the old man for some other job to-morrow,” declared “McGloster. “I'll have to admit that I ANOTHER. 261 don’t know much about love and that sort of slush. I’m through with the lovelorn column!’ He banged his fist on the desk with emphatic determination. Then, to show there were no hard feelings, he shook hands with Bill and me, and shortly thereafter, we departed. ‘Well, I accomplished more this af- ternoon in helping to set the world right than most men accomplish in a lifetime,” declared Bill complacently as we emerged into the street. He was glowing with righteousness. “Tf McGloster only had had educa- tion, I bet he would have been a big man to-day,” he added. “He never would be if he listened to every idiot who came along and told him what he ought to do,’ I said. I hadn’t forgotten the dirty crack which Bill had taken at me. - “T’ve put him on the right track, anyhow,” said Bill. “1. don’t know whether you did or not,” I retorted. ‘‘ For all you know, you may have ruined his career.” ““McGloster’s career is all right. That fellow will make good at anything he tackles,” said Bill. “He will if his fool friends leave him alone,” I snapped. We headed for the outskirts of the city en route for the State line. We had steered a bit from our course in order to hit Billington because we had heard that McGloster was there and we wanted to look him up. II. It was three weeks later. Bill and I were laid up at a little town near the border.. We were anxious to press farther south, but were delayed by Bill’s rheumatism, which made walking difficult for him. Not that we were in any particular hurry for, as usual, we had no special destination in view. Pickings were slim, but we managed to dig up enough to keep us alive. ‘To- ward the end of the weék, however, CORMICLOOOKS (C@)