Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

392 He trudged up to the Mansion House, climbed the long flight of steps to the big veranda, and stalked inside. The drizzle deepened and he registered by the light of a gas-jet which the clerk lighted. The clerk was smoking a pipe—a fact which the newly arrived guest knew without looking at him. Jimmy gave him a cigar. “Thank you,” said the man behind the desk. His face looked like that of ‘“‘ Uncle Sam ” transplanted on that of a fox. ‘“ Brother,’’ whispered Jimmy, confiden- tially, ‘‘ I see we belong to the same lodge. Being astray in the forests of Coalport, it is your duty to tell me the name of the ‘big smoke ’—the leading citizen.” “Henry Phelps, cashier of the First Na- tional, is the man you want to see.”’ “‘ Nix,” chided Jimmy. ‘ He wants to see me. And I shall gratify that yearning of his after I’ve met all comers on your bill of fare.” “It’s just across the street—the bank. What might you sell?” “‘T might sell clothespins or corn-salve,” said Jimmy, “ but I don’t. Those drum- mers always have a seedy look, and did they ever give you a good cigar?” “No. This is a good seegar.” Jimmy seemed pensive. ‘I wanted to give it to a girl I saw on the trolley, but the conductor wouldn’t introduce me.” . Jimmy left the clerk thinking of many things besides the depressing weather. About an hour later, Mr. Henry Phelps, peering through the gilded lattice of his financial bailiwick, beheld a cravat that might have been cut from Joseph’s coat of many colors. Below the cravat was about four-feet- nine inches of sturdy anatomy; above it the grave, alert face of a man who might have been anywhere, so Mr. Phelps judged, be- tween nineteen and twenty-five years of age. It was hard to say, chiefly owing to the straight nose, firm chin, and cheeks with just enough red in them to give a boyish tone to a face which a pair of sedate gray eyes belied by their gravity. -Mr. Phelps was himself a mild-mannered and kindly-faced man of around fifty; with silver hair, a rather benignant face and forehead, wearing gold-bowed spectacles. ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. “Yes, I’m Mr. Phelps,”’ said the cashier. ‘What can I do for you, sir?” “You can tell me the name of the type- writer your bank uses,” said Jimmy, with a directness that held no hint of his recent ebullient nonsense. Mr. Phelps gave a semiapologetic smile. ‘“‘T can’t because we don’t use any.” “You don’t?” Jimmy looked around at the elegant interior. ‘“‘ Why not? This looks like a very substantial bank.” ‘“*'W-e-l-1,” drawled the other, ‘“ we’ve been here over fifty years, now; I’ve been cashier for more than twenty-five—”’ He stopped midway of the explanation. Jimmy Stuart was doing something quite unprecedented. In fact, during his quarter of a century Mr: Phelps had never seen a visitor to the bank behave in just this wav. Jimmy was still looking at him and listen- ing, respectfully; but he had also suddenly flicked the ornate and costly cravat he was wearing outside his waistcoat, allowing it to drape in full view, and Mr. Phelps blinked. The next instant the man standing before the cashier’s window began to unknot his cravat and then loosen the buttons to his collar. | ““Go on, please,” said Jimmy, blandly, “for I’m very much interested in what you're saying, Mr. Phelps.” His tone, while suave, was also sincere. “'W-e-l-l, as I was saying, I’ve been here for twenty-five years and we never felt that we exactly needed a typewriter; our busi- ness got along all right without a type- writer; and it wouldn’t be fair to you to take up your time or mine—” Again he paused and blinked. Jimmy Stuart having completed unbut- toning his collar, suddenly hurled the collar and costly cravat over his shoulder ‘back of him and stood looking at him with the ut- most gravity through the window. CHAPTER II. ULYSSES FINDS HIMSELF. “a SEE,” said Jimmy. “Well, Mr. Phelps, my own experience is parallel to yours, although not so long. I used to get along without a collar and necktie. I also got COM cloooks. com