The Argosy, January 1907 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

224 ing up. .Mr. Scales had hardly finished speaking when there came the sound of scrambling feet ascending the stairs sev- eral steps at a time, followed by a swift. rush along the passage. The door was dashed open, and a short, stout man, very much out of breath, precipitated himself into the room, and closing the door again with great violence, flung himself against it. At the same moment a heavy body was heard to impinge on the lower panels. Mr. and Mrs. Scales rose simultane- ously, in consternation at this sudden irruption. “Good Lord! lated the former. the matter?” ‘“ Matter?’’ shouted Mr. Butterworth as loudly as his breathless condition would permit. ‘“‘ What sort of a welcome is this in a friend’s house? right in, to save time and trouble, and hardly had I put my foot on the first step when I heard a queer noise behind me—a sort of grunting noise. I looked back, and there, coming full tilt out of that little side room, was the most awful- looking beast I ever saw. If he hadn't slithered along and upset in trying to turn on that waxed floor, he’d have had me sure. I heard his teeth clash together like a crocodile’s as I got through the door. “He only missed me by a few inches.” “Why, Mr. Butterworth,” said Mrs. Scales, laughing, “that was only Jim. He’s the friendliest dog—isn’t he, George? If you had only stood quite still, I’m sure he wouldn’t have hurt you.” Mr. Butterworth, who was clinging to - the handle of the door with both hands, as if he feared it might be forced open, snorted in reply. ‘George was just as foolish about him at first,’ Mrs. Scales continued, “and now he would hate to part with him—wouldn’t you, George? ”’ “TIT think I could manage to survive it,’ responded Mr. Scales dryly. “Sit down, Butterworth, and let go of that door-handle. Jim is a highly intelligent animal, but hardly equal to turning it.” Mr. Butterworth, feeling that he had not presented himself in a very heroic light, complied rather sulkily, and after { 7? Butterworth ejacu- “What on earth is I walked THE ARGOSY. a few precautionary maneuvers Jim was brought into the room and formally in- troduced. He seemed much disappointed at finding his expected prey established as a friend of the family, and while he accepted him as such, evidently did so with a mental reservation. “Why don’t you lose the’ brute?” Mr. Butterworth asked, when the two men were alone and Mr. Scales had con- fided his detestation of the animal. “| tried to this morning,” replied the other, “ but it was no go. I opened-the back gate and let him run out in the lane, hoping to see the last of him, but not a bit of it. Back he came in five minutes. He knows when he’s well off. My wife spoils him. would steal him.” “Get him stolen, then,” Mr. Butter- worth suggested. ‘ Nothing easier. I know a man who will be delighted to do it for a five-spot. It’s his trade. Your wife needn’t know anything about it. You can console her by telling her that a dog like that is sure of a good home.” Mr. Scales, recalling his wife’s sophis- tries on the subject of Miss Merry- weather’s cat, chuckled audibly, and a low-voiced colloquy ensued, in the course of which the conspirators laid down the general outlines of the plot. “T’ll drop-him a line to call at your office at eleven, to-morrow,” Mr. Butter- worth said, as he rose to take his depar- ture. ‘‘ Mixey’s one of the biggest ras- cals unhung, but he’s useful at times. And as for you,” he added, shaking his fist stealthily at the unconscious Jim, “T’ll teach you to chase a gentleman up- stairs like a burglar.” Precisely at eleven o’clock, the follow- ing morning, Mr. Scales’s office-boy ushered into his master’s private sanctum one of the most disreputable-looking characters that gentleman had ever be- held. He wore a faded brown rain-coat, several sizes too large for him, and his most noticeable features were a carmine- colored nose and one watery gray eye, which wandered over the room and Mr. Seales’s person in a most disconcerting fashion. “Your name is Mixey?” Mr. Scales inquired, after motioning his visitor to the oldest chair in the office. I wish some one Gomichoo (E@)