The Argosy, August 1914 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

4 THE ARGOSY. placency forsook him in a flash. Grip- ping the arms of his chair, he bent for- ward, fairly shouting: “What's that you say? The Navi- gator? Jack Garrett?” Mac quailed beneath his black look. Getting a firmer hold on the door- knob, he managed to say: “Why, yes, sor. I tought you'd heard. He was clean knocked out.” “ Jack Garrett—knocked out ? What are you talking about? You mean that Butch Horlock was knocked out. You've been drinking again.” “ Sorra th’ dhrop, sor,” Mac de- clared stoutly. ‘“‘’Tis mesilf was as surprised as you. But th’ lad wasn’t himself th’ night. He was game, but that slow you'd never believe. He act- ed like a man that’s been doped.” “Doped!” The word came in a snarl from Sam Levine’s lips. His face was contorted into a black scowl. “ Jack Garrett knocked out, and acted like he was doped! Come over here where I can see you.” He rose from his chair. “‘ Now tell me that again. Are you sure it was Horlock and not Jack that got that decision?” Mac advanced two steps nearer the drop-light over the desk, eying Le- vine fearsomely. The door he left ajar in case of need. Fortified by the knowledge that this avenue of escape was open, he elaborated his previous statement. 7 “How c’u’d I be mistaken, sor,” said he, “ an’ me at th’ ringside and all? I see at th’ start-off he wasn’t workin’ right to-night. Butch was savager than ever I see him before. Jack begun t’ stall in th’ second, an’ by th’ fourt’ I c’u’d see how ’twas goin’. “They was infightin’ just before th’ finish. but Jack acted like he didn’t know where he was. I don’t know for sure what only ’twas a body blow, an’ it laid shim cold. An’—an’ that’s all, sor.” Having delivered himself, he backed to the door and regained his grip on the knob. Th’ referee separated them, Sam Levine was forced at length to believe in the incredible. His wrath broke bounds. He pushed back his chair and, while the timorous Mac shrank across the threshold, paced up and down, seeking in language relief for his feelings. It was a good two minutes before the storm subsided. Then, a little ashamed of himself, he halted beside the desk and turned again to his re- tainer. “Where is he now?” he demanded. “Jack? Sure, th’ rubber will be workin’ over him,” the attendant re- plied, adding with a view to pacifica- tion: “He’s not marked up much— they was infightin’ more than half th’ time.” “Go and tell him I want to see him just as soon as he can get here,” the manager ordered. “It'll be some time, sor,’ Mac warned. “ He’ Il have to be fixed up, an’ dress, an’—’’ Levine interrupted. “Get out of here and do as I tell you. I don’t care if it’s a week, I will wait here till he comes.” With a mumbled word of acquies- cence and a smothered sigh of relief, Mac withdrew, closing the door behind him as softly as if it had been the portal to a magazine filled with high explosives. After he had departed Sam Levine resumed his chair. For half an hour he sat brooding, elbows on knees, dark eyes fixed blankly on the floor. His unlighted cigar was gradually reduced to a frag- ment between his strong jaws. He was piecing together odds and ends of rumors, for his previous in- attention to which he now cursed him- self. Square himself, had he trusted too far to the squareness of his pro- tégé? Was it true that he had been\ neg- lectful of training? That he had fallen a prey to the many temptations which beset the fighting man? And this story about a girl—that was the most disquieting rumor of all. CORMICLOOOKS (C@