The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

718 “Sell you one?” he repeated slowly. “Please,” nodded Mr. Haviland. “Well,” said the foreman, shifting his quid, “‘seein’ as them there blocks has been condemned by the city, I don’t know but what I’m entitled to give you one. Take a bloek and go off an’ play!” “T don’t want you to give it to me,” in- sisted Charles Dempster. “For a very spe- cial purpose I want to buy one.” From his pocket he dragged the crumpled assortment of bills that had been thrust upon him in the course of the past half- hour. “Seventeen dollars,” he finished the slow, careful count. “Here you are,” said Mr. Haviland, passing the whole amount into the man’s hand. ‘And now, with your per- mission, I’ll take this paving block.” Gingerly picking up one of the things, Mr. Haviland walked back with it to the corner and stood waiting. He had not long to wait. A man bolted up to him—an elderly, rotund person, with a white tuft of whisker adorning each cheek. “That brick you have there, sir!” this fourth stranger panted. ‘Quick—where did you get it? Did you by any chance pay anything for—” Mr. Haviland paused. “T paid,” he then said slowly, and with emphatic distinctness, worthless paving block the precise sum of seventeen dollars!” The elderly man whipped out a well-filled , wallet. ‘“T must have that brick, young man!” he snapped. “Must have it, you understand? It means—here, Ill give you twice what you paid. J’ll take your word for it. Sev- enteen, eh? Here, take this; it’s yours. Give me the brick!” He helped himself to it from Mr. Havi- land’s nerveless hand, and wheeled. “Thank you, my young friend—thank you!” he flung back over his shoulder, and hastened back around the corner whence he had come. | Mr. Haviland stood staring after him. Then his wide gaze dropped to his hand. Methodically he unfolded the sheaf of bills and counted them. Thirty-four dollars even! And for an old condemned paving block that had been taken, with five hundred just like it, out of the street where they were giving them away ! “for this utterly THE ARGOSY. Charles Dempster turned, his brow sud- denly damp. . “Tt’s true!” he muttered, hastening off up the avenue in the direction from which he had come. ‘‘True—or else I’m stark mad!” He was bound for the house of the family physician, Dr. Clinton Pruell, who, besides | being a diagnostician of considerable note, also happened to be a dabbler in the mystic, things concerning occult phenomena, and particularly East Indian mysticism. “Ts he in?” Mr. Haviland blurted to the butler who opened the door for him at the doctor’s home. Bowing, the servant stepped aside. “But engaged just now, sir,” he informed Mr. Haviland in the vestibule. “One pa- tient in the consultation room. But then you're next—” “T can’t wait!” Mr. Haviland hurled the words back over his shoulder, already heading down the well- remembered hall toward Dr. Pruell’s private office. “T’ve got to know!” he told himself, tak- ing the doorknob in his hand. And as he spoke he opened the door and stepped into the doctor’s sanctum. Dr. Pruell, seated at his desk, looked up. As, wheeling in his chair, likewise did the patient before him. At sight of the latter’s face Mr. Haviland paused on the threshold. There was something, he did not know just what, that struck him as deucedly odd about this other individual’s counte- nance. “Doctor!” began Charles Dempster, out of breath, as he stepped forward. “I’m tre- mendously sorry—” The physician had risen. “Why, Dempster!” he exclaimed, smiling and extending his hand, “I thought this was to be your ‘day of days.’ Why aren’t you donning your wedding finery? I was just thinking it would soon be time for me to put on full regalia in readiness to motor down to the church. You—is anything the matter?” he broke off, his expression turn- ing momentarily grave. Charles Dempster exploded. “T have just been through an experi- ence, or set of experiences, rather, that has made me doubt my reason, doctor! That’s why I’m here—thus rudely, for which I ask your pardon. “Dr. Pruell,” he went on, “you must tell me whether I am out of my head, or—or if ECOMMICGLOOOKS (C@)