The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

THE RING OF RAAJ. looked searchingly into the face of the ele- gant gentleman before him. Then, with a shrug: “TLeestan, saar, one minute to me,” he went on. “Think: All you buy you sell for twice what you pay. Beeg theeng or leetle—all the same. Double the price re- turns always to you. But if still you do not believe? What harm, then, to pay so small a sum onlee to find out? To see for yourself? Come, saar—you take the reeng for one dollar.” With a glance at the passers-by, Mr. Haviland perceived that here and there eyes were beginning to turn curiously in his di- rection. As why not? Engaged in this sidewalk conversation with a man got up like the walking advertisement for some Coney Island side-show—what must he look like, anyway? His cheeks turning a deeper pink, he im- patiently drew forth from the inner breast- pocket of his well-fitting coat a wallet of gold-trimmed seal. A dollar, after all, as the fellow had sug- gested, would be a cheap price to pay for an escape from this lunatic. For that he was insane, there was not the least particle of doubt in Charles Dempster’s mind. An enchanted ring, indeed! ‘There you are!” said he, in a tone that he was careful to make light, holding out a crisp, new dollar bill to the importunate seller. “Give me the ring—since you insist.” With a lightning-swift gesture the Hin- doo accepted the bill and whisked it out of sight somewhere beneath his robe. Wait- ing to pitch the ugly thing-into the near-by gutter the minute the other should have turned his back, Charles Dempster stood holding the plain circlet that now had been transferred to his palm. But the Hindoo still waited before him. “That’s all, isn’t it?’ the young man asked in surprise. The Hindoo bowed gravity. “Put him on your fingaire, saar,” said he, with stolid persistence. “You must wear heem. ‘That is the law of the Reeng of Raaj. Othairwise the charm cannot pairform. Notheeng more; onlee wear heem—then you see magic work!” Charles Dempster bit his lip to repress a second desire to laugh over the sheer silli- ness of the situation. But anything to oblige this fugitive from with his former } 715 some Bloomingdale along the far-off banks of the Ganges! Hugging his cane against his body under one elbow, he stripped off one glove. Try- ing the ring on the third finger at hazard he found that it fitted perfectly. It was the most hideous article of adornment that had ever insulted his gaze! Hastily drawing the glove on over it, he snapped the catch, looking up to see if the foreigner was satisfied now. A startled glance, thrown to right and left, at once brought from his lips an involuntary gasp of relief. There, bobbing away up the side street, was the Hindoo’s white turban, easily dis- tinguishable among the more commonplace derbies of the crowd. The fellow must have started off like a greased streak the instant he saw his customer about to put on the ring. Charles Dempster felt for his cigar-case, and at the same time drew out his watch for a glance at the hour. Eleven o’clock! It behooved him to hurry if he was going to get those wedding things bought. He opened the cigar-case and found it empty. Confound Jordan, his man-servant! Looking around him from under a pro- voked frown, Mr. Haviland told himself that it was a lucky thing he was going to enter the state of wedlock so soon. ‘Then, perhaps, he would be decently looked after. His roving glance disclosed the fact that he was standing in front of the small cigar shop which was the one Mr. Haviland pa- tronized exclusively for the brand of im- ported—and likewise highly expensive— cigars he smoked. He went into the store. The. proprietor explained, with profuse regrets, that his stock of that especial brand was all but totally depleted. In the single remaining box on his shelves there was but a solitary Pura Finos left. ‘Taking the one cigar, and paying for it, Mr. Haviland walked toward the door, taking out his cigar-cutter. A man rushed up behind him. “T beg your pardon!” exclaimed this man—a nervous, gaunt-faced individual. “You just bought a cigar—I want it. I overheard what you paid for it. Let me give you twice the price of fifty cents—one dollar for it. Many thanks, sir, you’re most accommodating, I’m sure. This is a favor deeply appreciated. Good morning!” COMMICLOOOKS (C@