The Argosy, April 1912 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

132 “Not yet. He hardly spoke all the time they were playing cribbage. I sat back and watched them. Miss Steiner seemed to satisfy him with her playing, for he never growled. That’s how I knew she was all right.” | “She didn’t send me a message of any kind, I suppose?” “No; she had no opportunity. Carl Steiner told her to go to bed as soon as the last game was over, and she went out of the room with only a general ‘ Good night ’ to everybody. What I came over to tell you principally is that Professor Shaw has made an arrangement for you and him to © go on a rabbit-hunt with Sim Galt in the mountains. You are to meet them at the Union Station at half past twelve.” “But Sim Galt will be suspicious, sure- ly, that I am going with him for something besides rabbits? ” “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your name is Fred Barr. That’s the name you took when you went to work for Steiner, you know, so it will be easy for you to remem- ber that. “The professor told Galt you were a friend of his, a traveling man, and crazy to get a shot at the rabbits. When you are up in the mountain it will be your own fault if you don’t find out where he gets the No. 1.” “Well, I am a traveling man—or have been, so that was true enough. But, say, Jim, Professor Shaw is one of the best- natured fellows I ever came across. You say yourself he’s so busy it is difficult to get him to look at anything outside of his regular work for the McKee-Jordan Com- pany. Yet here he is giving all this time to me, examining the No. 1, playing crib- bage, and now going on a rabbit hunt, all for my benefit.” “Ye-es,” answered Jim McKee slowly. “But he loves tramping through the woods and over the mountains with a gun. That might not be enough to induce him to leave his laboratory just now, however. He has another incentive that forces him to go. He simply can’t resist it.” “What is it?” “Just this: Professor Shaw has made up his mind to find that No. 1 at any cost.” “T don’t see why he should be so ex- traordinarily anxious to help me—prac- tically a stranger to him.” “¢Dinna ye fash yesel,’ as Andrew Car- negie might say. Professor Shaw is not the THE ARGOSY. man to act without a reason. My belief is he has a motive of his own that he is keep- ing to himself for the present. Let's be thankful he’s on our side. So long as we get the No. 1, we needn’t care what per- sonal reason he has for finding it for us. Your gun and huntings togs are at home, I suppose ?”’ oe “Then let us hustle right over. You'll just have time to get them and make it at the station by twelve-thirty.” Fred Barrington asked no further ques- tions. He recognized the value of the ex- pedition. Once up in the mountains, with nothing on their minds, ostensibly, but rab- bits, it should be easy for him and the pro- fessor to trace the quarry whence Sim Galt procured the precious No. 1. It was ten minutes before train-time when Fred entered the great, lofty waiting- room of the Union Station. He was in a hunting-suit, including: cap, of corduroy, with leather leggings, and a silk handker- chief about his neck. There was little in his appearance to suggest the usually care- fully dressed manager of the Barrington Glass Company. He was a woodsman now, pure and simple. He carried his breech- loader, in its leather case, in one hand and a suit-case, containing cartridges and toilet necessaries, in the other. Sim Galt and the professor were waiting for him near the door. The former nodded grimly, without a word, and the professor slyly winked as he said “Good morning, Mr. Barr.” Then they marched to the train. Jim McKee left them at the gate. He had been invited to go, but had pleaded that he could not get away from business. The fact was that he meant to keep watch over Carl Steiner in Fred’s absence, making his headquarters at the Barrington factory. He and Fred agreed that Steiner might try to play some dirty trick at any moment, especially if he learned that Fred was away. Once on the platform, Sim Galt made straight for the smoking-car of the train that was to bear them to the nearest station to Lookout Mountain. This was Millwood, about forty-five miles from Pittsburgh. Professor Shaw and Fred were satisfied with the smoker, and they were hardly out of the gloomy, echoing train-shed before their cigars and Sim Galt’s corncob pipe were contributing their share toward the blue haze that filled the car and nearly GOMIIG OOO S (CO