The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

250 “Lucky for who?” rasped a nasal voice. Jane gasped. “Tt must be the man who—”’ “This is the man that owns the wagon you smashed to bits!” the voice snapped. “Which one 0’ you owns that car?” “Well, I—” Jane began. “Let me deal with him,” Farnham whis- pered quickly. ‘“‘Any man whose business sense keeps the upper hand after a bump like that is too much for any girl to handle.” “One o’ you wimmen say that car was her property?” the unpleasant voice snarled briskly, as its owned shuffled uncertainly to them and stopped. In the starlight little more than his out- line was revealed, but that was expressive. The person who had been in the wagon was short and thickset, with broad shoulders and a head thrust forward; just now he stood, all uninjured as the rest of them, with hands upon his hips, trying to see them - in the gloom. “Tl talk to you, Mr. said soothingly. “Cook,” snapped the other. “Mr. Cook, then. It was an accident, you see, and—” “So I took it; who’s going to pay the damages?” “Tf there are damages—” Mr. Farnham began again. “Well, there are! You smashed my wagon to flinders and a load of turnips went with it. I lost my team and you durned near killed me. Who’s going to pay?” “Tf you'll just calm down for a minute or two we'll find out who is going to pay and how much,” Farnham answered crisply. “You were on the wrong side of the road and you’re not going to bluff a ten-cent piece out of this outfit, and at the same time we’re ready to pay anything that is reasonable. Let’s make sure first that your property was injured.” Mr. Cook snorted loudly and turned back to the road; silently Farnham followed him —and be it said that while the Hapworthys lacked any inclination to do likewise, Jane Fayre came near to lacking the courage. A hoodoo worthy of Cousin Harold’s best astrological efforts seemed to be resting upon them this day! Unaffected by its presence, however, Farnham reached the roadside prepared to deprecate the whole episode—and having reached it he stopped and caught his breath. Whatever the original value of Mr. Cook’s ?” Farnham THE ARGOSY. property, belittling the damage it had sus- tained would be difficult. Jane’s car, mercifully, seemed to have suffered very little: One of the headlights had retired from active business, but the other burned brilliantly; one mud-guard was bent and the fender showed a curve that was not of the maker’s designing. But somewhere in the excitement Mr. Farnham seemed to have stopped the motor, for spark and throttle were shut off, and unless the one or two small dents in the radiator affected its running, the six was ready to start on further adventures! With more than a little satisfaction Mr. Farnham was considering these things when the vic- tim snapped: “Kinder hard to say how much my prop- erty was injured, ain’t it?” He pointed dramatically at the ground and Mr. Farnham frowned in the same di- rection. Fragments of board were there, to the number of several dozen; and, now that he came to look more closely, there were turnips, apparently, to the number of sev- eral millions. Turnips, indeed, were the predominating theme of the roadway at present—although, some yards along, a pair of rear wheels and a perfectly good axle revealed themselves. And that was really all! “That’s a brand new wagon gone and my whole late crop o’ turnips—sold they was, too, for the best price I’ve had in years. And them hosses was four-year-olds, mister, and the finest pair in this end o’ the State!” “They’re not dead, are they?” Mr. Farn- ham muttered. ‘They will be when they’ve run ’emselves out after that scare,” the other assured him. “That ain’t counting the damage to me, neither! It ain’t any fault o’ yourn that I ain’t in a thousand pieces this minute!” Farnham meditated upon the contents of the wallet in his inner pocket and specu- lated upon the probable amount of cash that Jane Fayre might be carrying. “T understand,” said he, quietly. ““You’re not injured, so we can check that off. A man with no more sense than to turn out in the wrong direction’s lucky to be alive, any- way. As to the horses, they’re probably unhurt, too, my friend. They’ll run till they’re tired, and when they’ve cooled off, they’ll be as good as ever. You know.that as well as I do. If they should happen to be injured in any way, we can settle for that later.” COMMICLOOOKS (C@