Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

178 money to their joint account in the Muill- bury Savings. The sight of the little town recalled dis- tant but happy days to Sannigan—days when he was a driller and the oil boom was at its height. He waved his hand to Dandy Curle. Many a time he and Dandy had draped their forms over the same bar— but never again for Patrick Sannigan! Black Dan Moshier shambled along—a good fellow, Black Dan, if he would just buck up and let rot-gut whisky alone. Sannigan heard the birds sing, recalled by- gone jags with fond pleasure that he had enjoyed them, and without regret that they were no more—and was glad for the sake of Rose Marie, and the tads, and for his own sake, and for the sake of his mare, Hazel Dawn, that he had quit, forever and forever. ~ He got sentimental about it, in his mus- ings, till the sight of the Commercial Bank recalled him to business. Though Sanni- gan kept his money in the Millbury Sav- ings, the beet check was drawn on the Commercial. A business man would simply have de- posited the check in his own bank, and let the bank do the rest. Not so the Ontario farmer, as any banker will testify. The farmer cashes the check at the bank on which it is drawn, and deposits the money. Thus Sannigan set out to do. Inspired by his maternal heritage of Scotch caution, he did more. He sat down at a table. in the Commercial lobby, carefully counted the bills, and methodically penciled down the denomination and number of each in his note-book, down to the bunch of Do- minion of Canada dollar notes. Going out, he met Ben Crabb, who had come in from the drilling camp north of Mervyl to look after some casing. Sauvey, Crabb told him, had fired Dandy Curle the week before; but most of the bays were still working for Sauvey. As he stood gossiping with Crabb, San- nigan felt something strange and remote creep into his blood. He was a bit fright- ened. He tried to think of Rose Marie and the tads, but all he could think of was a wonderful, delirious three-day jag Ben Crabb and he had once enjoyed together. THE ARGOSY. “Say, Ben,” he muttered weakly, “ you ain’t got a nip on your hip?” Ben hadn’t. Sannigan was momentarily glad. ‘Dandy Curle was a pretty good scout,” he said, trying to talk and think of some- thing else but that bygone jag. “If it hadn’t been for that infernal temper of his—always flying off the handle—” In the old days, mused Sannigan, he could have invited Ben, and Dandy, too into the nearest moisture emporium and re- galed them with a gin rickey or a tall glass of cool foam. “Say, Ben,” he faltered, “isn’t there some place where I can get a nip—just a thimbleful to wet my throat?” Ben regarded him regretfully. “You hustle right home,” he urged. ‘* That’s the best thing for you.”’ For, like nearly everybody else, Crabb liked Sanni- gan, and was reluctant to see him hit the toboggan—and then there was Rose Marie to consider, and the youngsters. ‘Just a drop, Ben?” moaned Sannigan. Ben persuaded him into his buggy, but Sannigan refused to go home. His long dormant thirst burned him up. Crabb re- garded him dubiously. | * See here,” he said at last, “ if I do give you a little nip, will you go straight home?” Sannigan swore, by the nine gods and the seven devils and all the saints of the calendar. Ben took him down an alley, and pro- duced a small flask. Sannigan drank with anticipatory pleasure—and realized disgust. ‘* What’s this?” he demanded. ‘ Grape juice?” ‘It’s a native wine,’ explained Ben. “Now, don’t whisper a word, but hustle straight home.” ‘A’ right,” agreed Sannigan. “ Just ’s soon ’s I put this five hundred in the bank.” And he climbed out of the buggy and head- ed for the Millbury Savings, pursued by Crabb’s dubious stare. “ They ain’t got nothing but slush, now! > adays,” reflected Sannigan. Then he ran into Dandy Curle. ‘Say, Dandy,” he whispered, edging close, “‘ you ain’t got a nip on you?” Dandy eyed him queerly. - Comichooks (CO)