Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

Iio MARGARET BONHAM “ I just wondered,” said George. Already, in the surprise of discovery, he had told too much; he added, improvising rapidly, “There's initials on em. I wondered where they used to belong, that’s all. ‘Thanks,’ he said to old Elcombe, and went away to the sound of muffled grousing that died out of earshot; he rode back between the leafless hedges and under the dark, bare trees, with half his time in hand; he needed only do an extra half-hour — that evening. After dark, on his way home, Albert met him in the !ane. Albert said, “‘ I want a word with you, George.” “Well?” “You got t’other chaps bothered, see. “Iwas silly talk, that was. Bells can’t have it in for you; I reckon that’s rubbish.” “All right, then,” said George, beginning to light up with a kind of angry glitter. “ You go on and explain it, let’s hear you. I reckon I can listen to reason as well as the next bloke. They bells got cracks in ’em when I touch ’em, that close up when I don’t. That it?” “ Now look, George; you got to stop letting it get you down. Flying out’s no good. I were thinking,” said Albert, illogical but earnest, “‘ how about if us went and had a talk to Vicar?.” “You want to talk to Vicar,” said George, “‘ you can talk till you sprout. Far’s I’m concerned, ’tis my business. I know where I am now, and I be perishing well going to settle it myself; and that’s that.” ““ How’s that, you know where you are? ”’ “That’s my business, too.” “All right,” said Albert out of the December dark. ‘ I’m not one of they nosies. All I mean, I’m sorry, George. ‘Tis something unaccountable, and you’m a good ringer, as good as us got, and keen, too; and us’ll be going out for the carols to- morrow night without you. And I tell you straight, I shut the chaps up, but I can’t explain it no more than any of us.” “Maybe I can,” said George. ‘“‘ Maybe I can get it fixed. Anyways, I can have a go. Thanks, Albert,” he said, his breath a faint pallor in the night, for it was turning colder. ‘‘ So long.” At half past two in the morning George rode like a shadow down the lane. He had taken his bike out of the woodshed after tea and pumped up its tires and left it propped against the wall behind a laurustinus bush. His wife slept. If she did wake, she would think he’d gone down to see if any spivs from town were after the geese, a sortie that all the village wives were used to in the weeks before Christmas; and for this reason he did not mind the scuffles and honks that echoed over the hedge as he left. comicbhooks.com