The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

NERVE. Upon this scene of desolation entered one Tobias Brewer, late of Nameless Creek, Arkansas; trusting Tobias Brewer, the vic- tim of an unscrupulous employment agency, having spent his last dollar on the rosy promise of riches easily won in the large city; unfortunate Tobias Brewer, who aiter wandering endless miles through the streets in an aimless quest for a job was even now the innocent victim of a practical joke; guileless Tobias Brewer, wearing (incredi- ble but true) leather boots with faded blue overalls thrust into them, a more badly faded blue shirt and a pale pink; ready- made four-in-hand tie that sagged suffi- ciently to permit a view of the nickel- plated, collapsible-pronged collar button that held the celluloid collar in place. At the summit of his six feet three hung a broad-brimmed, coarsely woven straw hat of the variety commonly known in the West as hayseed. - The great bulk of raw manhood dark- ened the doorway without attracting the attention of the two men plunged in gloom at the table. Even when he advanced toward them with his heavy awkward stride his presence was unnoticed. Abashed at the, unresponsive reception, Tobias Brewer paused in uncertainty, waved a sticky fly from his face a few times and at last, summoning up sufficient courage, asked innocently: “Is either of you gents Mr. Jim Nas- tic?” The two men at the table looked up in speechless astonishment. “Tt may be as you can tell me where I can find him, then,” continued Tobias Brewer. ‘‘A feller I run across down the street—right smart-lookin’ feller he was, too—told me to come in here and ask for Mr. Jim Nastic and likely he’d give me a job a-curryin’ the horses.” Again Tobias Brewer got no answer. But this time not because he had failed to impel recognition. Gloom was dispelled by a roar of laughter that set the windows rattling. “Leok ~-at--\t; Eddiet- Look at it)” screeched the Kid, rocking back and forth in a convulsion of mirth. “It’s alive!” Tenderness was not an altogether un- known quality of the heart that beat labor- iously inside Donovan’s fat chest. After the first roar of uncontrollable laughter he began to ‘feel for the rube”’ and refrained from unkind remarks. 655 But the Kid was an extremist. As usual, he waxed over-enthusiastic. “They haven’t got anything like that in the Bronx Zoo,” he cried, brushing the tears from his eyes. “It’s the biggest prize in captivity. I’ve got to get a good look at it before I wake up.” With that he approached Tobias Brewer with an exaggerated expression of assumed awe and mirth. : Now it cannot be denied that Tobias Brewer fell an easy victim to a joke as old as the human race, but Tobias Brewer, although an artless, unsophisticated son of Nature, was not 1oo per cent. fool. He was quick to resent an insult and he was painfully aware now of the predicament into which he had tumbled, though the true status of Mr. Jim Nastic still puzzled him. When the Kid, who was almost a foot shorter than his elected victim, had ap- proached within arm’s length, Tobias _ Brewer suddenly reached out and, seizing the trainer by the shoulders, lifted him, without any apparent effort, so that their faces were on a level and not more than two inches apart. ‘TI thought as maybe you could see better thisa way,” he remarked. “Take a good look while you’re at it, ’cause I’m a-goin’ to give you another chance to act funny in a minute.” ‘That minute was the shortest the Kid had ever experienced; the next second, however, was the longest as he shot out of Tobias Brewer’s arms, hisgbody describing an arch, the further base of which ter- minated on the floor in a distant corner of the room. The Kid no longer had need to feign amazement now, but that was swallowed up in an uncontrollable rage—a fiendish frenzy born of the bitterest humiliation. He was still dazed from the impact when he leaped from the floor and dashed wildly toward the innocent man from Nameless Creek, Arkansas. In a boxing match the Kid would have used his head, no matter how mercilessly he was being punished, but now the whole room flashed red, and rage guided him. Like a flaming arrow he launched himself at his man. The next instant the Kid’s face and the hard knuckles of Tobias Brewer’s fist met and the Kid dropped to the floor inert, as an arrow shot against two-inch armor plate. That was the temporary turning point in COMMICLOO® S (C@