The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 126: what you’re looking at

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

116 The Brute cast a glance over his shoulder and saw me coming, then he deliberately caught the girl in his arms and kissed her. I think I went quite mad at this. Had I possessed a particle of sense, had I paused to consider, if not my own inter- ests, those of the girl, I would have stopped there instead of rushing to certain defeat. I am no pugilist. Beyond a friendly bout now and then with my roommate in college, I had acquired little knowledge of the art. If I had known more it would have made little difference, for that, I after- ward learned, was Brute Flanagan’s means of livelihood. He was a prize- fighter. But I saw red, and ran in on him. He swung at me, and instinctively I ducked. I gave him a backleg, and with the im- petus of my charge he went down. It was but adding fuel to the flame. He was on his feet and at me like an enraged bull. I avoided the weight of his blows at first by dodging or retreating, but one got through to my body at last. It was as if a catapult had struck me. I crumpled to the ground. Afterward, Elizabeth Norcross told me she thought I was dying. When the air is forcibly ejected from the lungs nature’s bellows make some noise in recovering it. After that terrible blow I remember lying on my back fighting desperately for air and each breath causing great pain. Then this pain was gone, but a swooning weakness prevented me from rising. I saw Brute Flanagan standing over me like a great schoolboy, savagely exultant, but a bit anxious, too, regarding his handi- work. Next I heard the girl’s voice. It seemed far away, but quite distinctly I heard her say: “You great brute! Go get water.” “ Water—nothin’,” he sneered sheep- ishly. ‘ He’ll be all right in a minute. Got it in the solar plexus, that’s all.”’ The girl was on her knees now, bending THE ARGOSY. over me. She got an arm under my neck and tried to raise me. ‘ He'll get over it quicker if you let him lay flat,” suggested Flanagan. The girl threw him a glance full of scorn. “Tf you can’t help, you might at least get out of the way,” she said in cold anger. Brute Flanagan snorted. ‘“Got what was comin’ to him, that’s all,” he commented and moved off with a swagger. IV. Peruars Flanagan knew more about such matters than the girl. There was every reason why he should. At least, she lowered my head and I breathed easier. My strength came slowly back. I raised myself on an elbow. But for a certain lameness and that I was still so weak that I felt no desire to get to my feet, I seemed none the worse for the encounter. None the worse! I could not look the girl in the face. Presently, I knew, I would be well again in body, but what of the spirit? I had been beaten, knocked senseless by another man in the presence of a wo- man. I had the feeling that some thing had been taken from me that I could never regain. I could have wept, not because I was hurt in body. The hurt was far deeper than that; I was hurt in pride. If I had known what fear, real fear, was that after- noon, now I knew what shame was—and hate. It came to me now what this might mean to the girl. Brute Flanagan had es- tablished his sovereignty; might was right. Brute force ruled. We were back in the Stone Age. . With the cities, the railroads, the houses, we had left behind also the law. Brute Flanagan was the law. I heard myself again, telling my classes that intelligence would always. win CORMMICLOOOKS (C@)