The Argosy, April 1912 — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

130 “Yes, and he won’t come again. He says he doesn’t mean to play outside of the Bar- rington office any more.” “Ts that there the only reason he gives?” “That’s the only one.” “All right, then,” rejoined Sim, with a triumphant grin. “I?ll play my next game there. And the No. 1—” “Stop!” shouted Carl Steiner, and there was terror as well as anger in his voice. “T’ll have Willings here next time.” “Two weeks from to-night?” “Two weeks from to-night,” replied Steiner. “All right! That goes!” Sim Galt picked up his cards and scanned them for several seconds. Steiner watched him furtively, with a gaze that was hardly short of murderous. At last Sim said, in a quiet tone, as if he had never been angry: “Mr. McKee, it’s your play.” The game was resumed as if nothing had occurred to disturb the general harmony. Jim McKee had not spoken during the short and sharp passage at arms. Now that he was told to play, he did so with a curious veiled grin at the corners of his mouth. He felt as if he and the professor were not wasting their time altogether. Fred Barrington, outside, had with difh- culty restrained himself from pushing the sliding-door entirely back. He wanted a full view of the battle-ground. He was sorry the dispute had not gone a little further. He might have learned exactly under what terms Sim Galt was supplying Carl Steiner with the No. 1 powder. One important thing he had found out, anyhow. That was that Steiner was getting the No. 1 only so long as he satisfied Sim Galt’s strange passion for cribbage. “Did you hear what your stepfather promised about Willings?” whispered Fred to Lucille when things had simmered down. “Ves, but I don’t know how he’s going to keep his word. Williams is a hard man to manage. If he’s made up his mind not to come, I don’t believe he will.” “Then how will your stepfather satisfy Galt?” “He'll have to find somebody else who can play as well as Willings. There must be plenty of good cribbage-players in a big city like Pittsburgh.” “Yes, I suppose there are. But—” Another violent explosion from Sim Galt brought Fred sharply to his convenient crevice in the door. The hunter had risen THE ARGOSY. from the table, his cards in one hand—and Fred estimated his height at about six feet two inches—as he pointed a long, lean fin- ger at Jim McKee. “Tt ain’t no manner o’ use, Mr. Steiner. I ain’t a goin’ ter sit here an’ have my game queered by a gent as don’t know how to play it, even if he is a millionaire’s son. I ain’t got a thing ag’in’ Mr. McKee ’cept the way he sp’ils crib. But I want another pardner, an’ I want him now. If I don't git a chancet ter play a decent game fer the rest o’ the evenin’, I’ll see Mr. Barrington in the mornin’ about the No. 1. Now, what are yer goin’ ter do?” It was pretty clear, from the expression of Carl Steiner’s face, that what he would have liked to do would be to knock out Sim Galt’s brains with the first weapon he could get hold of that would be heavy enough for that purpose. But he swallowed hard and replied, almost with meekness: “T’m very sorry, Sim, but where am I to get a cribbage-player to-night? My daugh- ter Lucille plays a good game—”’ “Sure!” interrupted Sim. ‘She'll do.”’ “Yes, but she isn’t at home. At least I don’t think so.” Fred Barrington and Lucille had only just time to dart into the kitchen before Carl Steiner threw open the door where they had been standing. As he came to- ward the kitchen Lucille sauntered out to meet him. She had to keep him out, for Fred had not yet reached the cellar. “Hello, Lucille! You’re home, then!” blurted out Steiner. ‘Come here. I want you to take a hand at cribbage.” He had not seen his stepdaughter since he chased her to the incline the night be- fore, but it suited his purpose to seem as if he had forgotten all about that lively epi- sode. As they went along the hall together, on their way to the dining-room, Fred was planning to follow at a safe distance. He wanted to peep through his slit in the door. But Delia O’Toole had other views. She interposed her buxom form as he was about to leave the kitchen, and, as he couldn’t get by her, he stopped perforce. “No, Misther Barrington! Yez ain’t goin’ to git into any more throuble in this house. Leave it to Miss Lucille to find out all yez wants t? know. Wid her an’ thim two gintlemin poompin’ the big man wid the hat on, he’ll be afther tellin’ everyt’ing —especially whin he has sech a good part- » 99 ner as Miss Lucille in his card-playin’, CO Clooolk< CO