The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

GETTING AWAY FROM THOMPSON. He turned limp; he blinked incredulously at the constable, who rewarded him with a weary and significant smile; he turned a flitting and bewildered glance toward Jane. To any eye—and how much more to the searing, relentless eye of the law! Mr. Farnham was the criminal unmasked. Nor had the one brief glance showed him any really brazen assurance in Jane’s quarter. That charming young woman was rather pale, just now, and her eyes were very round indeed; one hand clutched tightly the smallest of handkerchiefs, until the knuckles showed beautifully white; the other hand picked at the button on the pocket of Jane’s motor-coat, and picked and picked again. “Yes, I gotta little runabout,” the con- stable was saying pleasantly, “and if she hadn’t gone and busted yesterday, I’d ’a’ had you a good deal earlier t’-day.”’ “This car—our car—” Mr. Farnham began bravely, staggering out of his corner. The constable ignored him; he was ad- dressing the elder lady now. “Joe Cook come walkin’ into town this morning, long about dawn, an’ got me out o’ bed,” he explained. ‘Seems he was haulin’ his half of the turnips from the farm his brother. works for him, and this . swell crook run him down. He done Joe a thousand dollars’ worth of damage and—”’ Normal cerebration returned at last to Wilbur Farnham. Jane apart, there was nothing to be gained by growing angry at a somewhat wooden-headed officer. He smiled. “Constable,” he interrupted gently, “I haven’t done anybody a thousand dollars’ worth of damage, and what your friend Cook suffered we’re more than willing to pay. And I am not, as you assume, a ‘swell crook’ and that car isn’t stolen. ‘““As for the numbers, that’s really up to the chauffeur who left us yesterday. Our numbers were—er—lost and he made oth- ers, you see. If he has made a mistake—” “Regular chauffeur of yours?”’ “Of course, and—” “Washed the car every day and shined her and so on, did he?” “Why, he wasn’t our regular chauffeur— no!” Jane put in helpfully. “He was a new man; we had only had him for a day.” The constable smiled cynical amusement at Jane. “Ves, that sounds better,” he drawled. “Did seem kinder funny that a feller could 261 take care of a car and look at the same number every day for nine months without even knowing what the number was, didn’t it?” ‘“Well—you see—” Jane stammered. ‘But I guess it wasn’t bright enough to get over and you needn’t bother thinking up any more of the same kind,” the officer said, stretching comfortably. ‘‘You’re some younger than this other party and you ain’t got his experience.” ‘Look here, you,” Mr. Farnham rum- bled threateningly. ‘“‘Don’t—” The constable’s thick, hard forefinger pointed suddenly at him! ‘“‘As for you, young feller,” he said stern- ly, “you better not talk! You don’t fool me none, either of you. This is the back- woods and I’ve lived here ever since I was born, but you ain’t the first swell-dressed crooks that’s hit this section, by a long shot! You made a bad guess when you brought that car this way, wherever you stole it, and you made a darned sight worse one when you picked my numbers.” “Constable!” thundered Wilbur Farn- ham. ‘And as for that three dollars—d’ye want to pay it now? ‘That’ll be one less charge against you, anyway.” ‘“T have just one dime!” the large young man confessed. ‘Want to pay or don’t you?” the law asked wearily. ‘“T tell you I can’t! We asked her—” The constable closed the matter by turn- ing away and beckoning them. ‘““Come on!”’ said he. “Where?” Jane asked. “Jail!” said the law. “Wilbur!” gasped his alleged sister. ‘““‘Well—we’re not there yet, Jane,” the young man said dizzily. ““We—” “Oh, you don’t need to get excited,” the constable chuckled. ‘‘We got a nice new jail over there t’ Batesford. Brand new and you two’ll be the first to use it, except for one drunk. Yessir! Built by one of the fellers that designs the inside o’ these here big States’ prisons, so you'll be right up to date. Come on! March!” “I—I don’t want to go to jail!” Jane quavered wildly. | “Most likely not, but you’d oughter thought about that sooner,” the constable said, not unkindly. ‘You look’s if you might have come of pretty decent folks. G’long there, now! You two start ahead Go 0)(@0) AMNG S (C@