Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

_, CHAPTER I. GINNY BABE’S ESTATE. RAGGED, dirty, trampish negro en- A tered the Henscratch saloon end sat down at a table where Skeeter Butts was trying to familiarize himself with the vagaries of some loaded dice. The intruder was not a stranger in- Tickfall, but was -Tated as one of its undesirable citizens. He had_seen the inside of a good many parish jails, and had been the guest of the State for several brief terms in the penitentiary. “When did you git out, Dixo?” Skeeter asked. - “Bout a week ago,” Dixo answered quietly. ‘“ But I ain’t aimin’ to stay out- very long,” ‘Tt ‘pears like you is gittin’ powerful slow gittin’ enough of jail-houses,”’ Skeeter remarked. “I wouldn’t complain ef you made a kick.” “T ain’t got no kick,” Dixo. replied. “I reasons it out dis way: So long as dey is got me in jail I is got a place to eat an’ sleep, an’ my job is picked out fer me. Of co’se a real healthy man could eat mo’ dan I gits, an’ sleep a little longer dan -they allows me. But it is better dan bein’ out. “Dey turned me, out las’ week, an’ I ain’t found no wuck, an’ I been sleepin’ in de ole cotton-shed, an’ I’s hongry all de time.” Skeeter looked in to the simple, stupid 368 Digitized by (Go gle yf E K. Mieal face of the speaker, and without being able to express his sentiments, he knew that Dixo belonged to that helplessly criminal class of degenerates, always punished, never pitied, and not always to blame. He felt sorry for the man, and knew when a few days of hunger and wretchedness, loneliness and isolation had wrought their mission upon him, he would be glad to commit some minor offense and go back to prison. “Got any money?” Skeeter asked. “I might be willin’ to he’p you a little bit till you kin think up whut kind of crime you is gwine to cormit nex’, so you kin git back in de jail-house.” “T don’t need no dollars, ” Dixo said . proudly. ‘I got money enough to burn up a wet dawg.” ™ Thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought forth a sizable roll of soiled and poisonous-looking bills. He spread them out upon the table and counted them. under Skeeter’s covetous eyes. The sum was ninety dollars. “Whar fid you get all dat, Skeeter asked. ; ‘“T didn’t steal it,” he answered with a erin. “I lied fer it. I talked it outen my ole maw, Ginny Babe Sale I tole her I had stopped . drinkin’, stopped | cussin’, stopped lyin’, stopped stealin’ , an’ had ddne j’ined de chu’ch. ‘““T done stopped all dem things a thou- Dixo?” Me sand times in my shawt life. I tole hér 1 5 A = A * original trom CO [AAC JOO <emconn HE OHIO STATE E UNIVERSITY