The Argosy, August 1914 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

NOBODY LOVES A LOSER, Harley resumed his forward march with a muffled “Oh, you pshaw,” while the comrades left behind re- marked on the gorgeousness of his ap- parel. It was deserving of anything they might say. A suit of loud black and white checks enwrapped his chunky figure, the skin-tight trousers displaying in all their symmetry the knobs of his nether limbs. It was set off by a crimson tie and a heliotrope- bordered handkerchief leaning out of the breast-pocket. Bright yellow shoes and a skimming-dish hat completed a tout ensemble long to be remembered. “ Harl don’t forget anything when he goes to see his girl, you bet,” re- marked Charlie. “I was a great fel- ler for the girls when I was his age, too.”’ “T guess you ain’t got-over it none, Charlie,” said Anse Burdick. “A little bird told me they’s a widder—” A big hand reached over and choked the remark by the simple process of jamming his ancient derby hat down over his face, and Herb Mann’s voice remarked : ‘Did you ever hear tell of the fel- ler that got rich mindin’ his own busi- ness, Anse?” Rebuked, Anse smoothed his ruffled feathers and steered the conversation into safer channels. The other absentees from the bench were Jim Tarkis, who was washing dishes -and getting ready. for dinner, and Jack Garrett. The latter strolled forth a few minutes after Harley's departure. He had not yet become so hardened to early rising that he turned out at three o’clock just for the fun of the thing when he did not have to. He had just finished the coffee that Jim Tarkis had set on the back of the stove for him, and felt like a walk. His invitation was refused by the others. “Tf you meet up with Buck Potter, bring me home a piece of him for a souvenir, Jack,’ Herb Mann sent after him. Jack generously agreed to re- member the request. 4A 49 About the time he passed Captain Zed’s window Jessica was finishing her job of bookkeeping. “It hasn’t been such a very good week, grandfather,’ she remarked, passing the balance-sheet over. “TI knew ‘twan't,’ he said as he took the slip. “I’m out of pocket on th’ hull season, and th’ best of it over already. ‘That business of the gill net set me back just enough to make th’ difference between profit an’ loss.” “Don’t you care, grandfather,” Jess encouraged him. “ You've done as well as the others, haven’t you?” “Yes and no. Simcox and George Whittle and th’ rest are fishin’ straight shares. I had to promise th’ men ten dollars a week apiece to get ’em to come at all, and a good deal of th’ time had to dig to pay it.” “The season isn’t over yet,” she} reminded him. ‘* You might make a big catch that would make everything all right.” “That’s so. I try not to get down- hearted, Jess. DT’ve known men that made their everlastin’ fortunes in a single haul. Rufe Gilbert walkin’ along th’ beach picked up a chunk of ambergree big as your head, and kep’ drunk for two years steady without doin’ a stroke of work. That’s what makes men go fishin’, I suppose—th’ off-chance that somethin’ big like that'll happen to them.” FP, “It’s bound to happen, grandfa- — 99 ther,”’ the girl said, ‘“‘ Perhaps this very day. Who knows?” He leaned over and put his hand fondly on her shoulder. “You're a great help to your old grandfather, Jess,” he said. “TI don’t know what I’d ever do without you.” “You won't have to do without me,’’ she said, patting his gnarled hand with her slender brown one. “I’m a hard person to get rid of,” “That reminds me,” he returned. ‘“T sh’ld have spoken of it before. There's that feller, Jack Garrett. Don’t let yourself be thinkin’ too much about him, Jess, will you?” CORMICLMOOOKS (S©@)