The Argosy, September 1915 — page 224: what you’re looking at

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

438 family. When he was big enough to toddle around a little he toddled into the street, where he seemed to find his proper sphere. School had no attraction for him as he grew older, but in some unaccount- able way he learned to read; and when his papers were sold he pored over the lurid literature that told of brave deeds and strange adventures. One trouble with Joe was his in- ability to tell the difference between famous and infamous. All he knew was that he longed to be like those men of whom he read, those men whose trusty sixshooters leap from their belts and pour a rain of fire until scores of enemies bite the dust—providing there was any dust in the immediate neighborhood for purposes of mastica- tion. Lately he had been watching the heroes of the movies. They inspired him more than ever. He had been a slow reader and many of the larger words ‘remained as Greek to him, but before an unfolding film one could see for oneself. So he became inspired. When the opportunity presented it- self to do a small service for the Boo Gang he hastily did as he was told, his narrow chest swelling with pride. For had not Pete the Pirate grunted ap- proval? And was not Pete the Pirate leader of the Boo Gang? Moreover, Joe was allowed to loaf with the gang now and then, and his periods of use- - fulness to the leader and the lieutenants were becoming more frequent. Then one night a “harness bull” was to be “croaked.” In other words, the gang intended to kill a uniformed policeman, simply because that. officer was inthe way. Their plans were well laid. The men who were to do the work would shoot from a window, and as they were to use smokeless powder and silencers, there- was but little chance of detection. When the officer passed into the light cast by a corner lamp they were to fire and escape. It was a cinch. Joe knew of the gang’s plans. He THE ARGOSY. would have been proud if he had been chosen to fire the shot. But he was never trusted with anything so impor- tant. The only instructions he had relative to the job were to “keep yer head shut an’ beat it.” Being a gangster, Joe thought he had to carry a weapon. So from a pawn-shop he had purchased a revol- ver. Others in the gang had their weapons equipped with silencers; Joe equipped his likewise. The others used smokeless cartridges; Joe also bought a small supply. Joe still lived with his mother in a squalid tenement. He had grown ac- customed to allowing her to make the living not only for herself but for him as well. Members of the gang were not in their usual haunts, he found after a tour of inspection, so back home he went. He slouched into the tiny back yard, where he saw a dis- carded tomato-can lying against the brick wall. Old Sallie Kemper stepped to her back window on the third floor and emptied a pan of dish-water. Joe ducked and cursed as some of the greasy water spattered him. Sallie laughed and said she was sorry he did not get all of it. “Little good he is to his mother or any one else,” she declared. Then she returned to the window for an- other look at him. Just then Joe addressed a cutting remark to the tomato-can. ‘To him it represented a policeman in full uni- form. The officer was then entering the light cast by the corner lamp. “Ye fat-necked bull! Ye will get in the gang’s way, will ye?” he de- manded. Out came his revolver. He aimed quickly and Sallie Kemper heard a slight chug. The tomato-can rattled against the wall. Through the gather- ing dusk she saw a newly made hole in its side. “ He'll kill somebody yet with that noiseless popgun o’ his,” she remarked to herself, and returned to her house- hold duties. COMIC LOOKS, (E@)