Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

344 amassed very much gold, and was amassing more with each rise and decline of the sun. Single of purpose, all things else in the wor!d bothered him not. Thus ‘he had been contented. Contented he was until Heavy Windover, burglar, strode into his shop and beat him in body and in spirit. His unruffled calm had been blown away by the shifting blasts of hot and cold hatred. It was in the very nature of things that Nicholas Feld should seek revenge. A yellow speck detached itself from the scurrying throngs of Baxter Street and floated into the shop of Nicholas Feld. It was a human form, but it moved without sound—without even a faint shuffle of its sandaled feet. Diminutive and withered it was—and clad in strange garments. A wispy black mustache hung down on the lower cheeks in long strands. Its pan- talooned legs described the process of loco- motion, but the silent tread made the figure appear like a dangling creature suspended from a wire. Two thin hands, outstretched one over the other, were pressed against the abdomen—as though its owner suffered from cramps; but the attitude was no more than characteristic. Thus did Ming Yuen slip over from his curio shop in Chinatown, one of whose yel- low borders is jammed against Baxter Street, to talk of business with his friend, Nicholas Feld. Ming Yuen, old and withered, and whose skull-capped head hardly came above Nich- olas Feld’s dusty show-case, was one of the very few men who could bring the shop- keeper from his rocking-chair. There was a deal of friendship between these two out- landish mortals—who came from far ends of the earth to meet in a strange land; and, meeting, to unite their craft and stealth in plucking the gold of that land. There was no affection between them—but there was a sort of friendship; rather a feeling of mu- tual need. For Ming Yuen was one of the chief stations in Nicholas Feld’s mysterious “* route.”’ The shopkeeper scrambled to his’ feet. He nodded. Ming Yuen nodded. Neither spoke until chairs had been drawn closely together in a gloomy corner. Then they THE ARGOSY. talked long and earnestly. Their business done, Ming Yuen arose to depart. Nich- olas Feld detained him. He inquired: “‘ In China what is it that they do to a man who should try and get the best of another man?” ‘Many things—much things,” croaked Ming Yuen, “If he tly ver’ hard—all the same he get it hard.” _ “ How is it that a man should do hard things to another man with no—with— without—” The shopkeeper flung a gesture which conveyed his meaning. Ming Yuen under- stood. He replied: “ Hurt him bly many things—much things.”’ Nicholas Feld meditated. ‘“ You and me are friends,” said he. “I should not stop at telling you secrets. much that I want to do—but there is some- thing I should do. There is a man—”’ And the shopkeeper told his friend from Chinatown the story of Heavy Windover. He told him, as best he could, just how he felt toward Heavy Windover. Ming Yuen plumbed the depths of Nich- olas Feld’s hatred. He knew just why the man hated—and in Ming Yuen’s country they have strange ways of inflicting re- venge. He knew that Nicholas Feld didn’t wish to take the supreme revenge—but re- | venge he must have. Ming Yuen meditated—profoundly. Fi- nally he spoke a few words, and significant- ly patted the right hand of Nicholas Feld. The shopkeeper’s eyes flared with inspira- tion. For a long time they talked. ‘And you say thousand dolla’?’’ queried the old Chinese. ‘‘ Can bly many things— much things—for thousand dolla’. Me see my fr’en’, Bagg.” . ‘““T will pay him one thousand dollars,” repeated Nicholas Feld. “It should be worth it.” Ming Yuen departed as he came. The rustle of footsteps on the sidewalks of Bax- ter Street; the clatter of trucks; the throaty cries of hucksters; the shrill voices of chil- dren—the din came raging up to the very doorway of the shop, and then seemed to quiet and slink away in terror at the cave- like gloom inside. The shopkeeper paid no- heed to the noises of the day. The meas-_ It is not very ECOPMIGLOOOKS (C@)