Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

i) et hls ELL, the big boss, who’s Horace P. Giles (Giles Confidential Detective Service, Inc., Investigations Quietly Conducted, Rates Reasonable), he calls me and Ed into the office and he says: “Men,” he says—he always calls us “men” when it’s business; when it’s just about how sorry he is that his last client ain’t kicked in yet—and would we mind let- tin’ this week’s pay go over to next Satur- day — it’s “ boys” he calls us. Anyhow: “Men,” he says, “I got a big and impor- tant case for you—-a big and important case.” “We're the boys—’”’ I start to boast, Ed just standin’ there grinnin’ like the simple- ton he is. “7 know all about that,” says the bogs. “ The Anti-Vice and Gamblin’ Association,” he goes on, ‘‘ has retained the service of my agency ’’—him, me, and Ed is the agency,, so I snicker—‘ of my agency to aid it in crushin’ the gamblin’ evil, which is ”—he looks at a paper on his desk—‘‘‘ which is underminin’ the morals of this city,’” he reads. “‘ Sounds like quite a job,” I observe. “Tt is,” nods the boss. “ What it means is that we’ve been hired to close up the poolrooms.”’ “ T never heard of a little session with the cue hurtin’ nobody,” I says, innocent like. “Jt ain’t that kind of pool,” says the boss, lookin’ like he was wonderin’ whether = * ee ore ae es fr S a ¢ Figen agrs = — — , Aer 33 : ll SS ae 5 > = —" —— 4 e I was kiddin’ him. “ It’s places where they bet on horse races,” he explains. “Oh,” I says, still playin’ the boob. ‘“‘ And does the Anti-Vice Club tell us where they are, or do we have to go out and—” ‘* Joe Conner,” interrupts the boss, speak- in’ severe like. ‘“ This ain’t no picnic I’m handin’ you—it’s a job! If you think that because it’s concerned with a light form of human endeavor like illegitimized bettin’ on horse races, it’s to be a joyful vacation for you—and this,” he says as an afterthought, pointin’ to Ed, ‘‘ you’re wrong. It’s up to you to go out and get evidence—just like it was a divorce case. Get me?” ‘Oh, sure!” I tell him. “Very well, then,” he says, “ the Anti- Vice and Gamblin’ Association tells me that Handbook Charlie’s runnin’ full blast over McNally’s harness store—takin’ bets on three tracks, and handlin’ a play that runs” into thousands.” ‘That sounds terrible!” I assert. “‘ Well,” I add, “ they ain’t goin’ to run no unfairious and degraded gamblin’ schemes for bilkin’ the honest workin’man of his hard-earned cush in this town—not while Joe Conner—” ‘To the sewer with that!” breaks in the boss. “Get out. of here and get busy! Mind you, now, I wants results!” ‘Ha, ha!” I laughs. ‘ Ha, ha!” “ T don’t see the joke,” says the boss. “No?” Lask him. “ Have you ever been in a poolroom?” I inquire. 339 } Eomicboo