Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

60 A step on the walk broke the spell. The next moment a radiant-faced, confrdent young man held Mrs. George Bradwell m his arms. ‘“ Tell me quick, George!’’ she whispered tenderly. ‘‘I know it’s good news you have to impart.”’ ‘It is, venerable old mother person. It has come all m°a bunch. The Court of Appeals has confirmed the conviction of Guthrie and his crowd. I have in my pocket a paper proving that I’m once more a citizen of these United States, and also a duly accredited practising lawyer in New York State. I am also in receipt of notice that I am henceforth a permanent member of the legal staff of the Great Lakes Com- pany at twice my former stipend; and last, but not least, I’ve just mailed a check for one thousand dollars to old Unele Amos Warren, devil take him and God bless him!” A smothered squeal of delight was his THE ARGOSY. answer; then, after a few minutes in which the judge and his wife took part in the good news, Agnes exclaimed: “Pm going right m and write a long letter to Aunt Hetty. She’s the biggest gossip m Eden. That ‘Hl square us there, and we can really begin to live now.” A little later Bradwell strotled around the corner of the house to the garden, where a bent and grizzled old figure had just fin- ished his day’s work and was cleaning off his roe. : ‘Good evening, Bruiser!” Bradwell shouted. ‘‘ How goes the new job?” - ‘Fine, sir—fine! Beats the old bench in Auburn forty ways. Say, son! I was the guy that was nutty when I said they was nothin’ to that startin’-over stuff. Be- leve me, you had the right depe! I’m gettin’ too old for the strong-arm game, anyhow; but, believe me, I km use the black-jack on ragweed, an’ quack grass for ten years yet.” (The End.) I. S the train speeds through that up- State stretch cf country which lies just this: side the Canadian border, you may cet a fleeting glimpse of a sizable, thriving settlement which the station sign May Enery Hell * we informs you is Beachville. From the car windows -you see nothing to differentiate it from the other ‘“ villes’ of the section. A group of brick buildings of a dull-red uglimess, some half-dozen aspiring chim- neys, a well-stocked wood-yvard, the usual line of workers’ cottages, running parallel CoOmicoool. (C(O) 5}