Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

THE It was quite evident that the old code of expediency no longer obtained. CHAPTER VIII. RUN TO EARTH. HERE came one Sunday to sit with the customary crowd of strangers in the Church of the Redeemer an alert and ner- vously embarrassed man. The showiness of his attire and the flashing opulence of the diamond horseshoe in his scarf were incongruous there. _He was enmeshed in the spell of Polly’s voice, and scarce restrained his involuntary impulse to applaud a demand for an encore when she had finished. His narrow-lidded eyes were greedy when he left the church to take a stand on the walk outside. When Polly came from the church the stranger jostled George Anderson from her side and rudely and familiarly accosted her: “’Lo, Juno!” Polly whitened, and her knees faltered. She reached for George Anderson’s steady- ing arm as she gasped: “ Max Weisbaum!” “Yeh! It’s me, your old daddy come back f’r you! Gawd! But you’re sure lookin’ more like a queen than ever!” purred Max. “What are you doing here?” demanded Polly. “ Kind 0’ looks as though zow I come to see you,” replied Weisbaum, and in an un- dertone: ‘“ Give the John the gate an’ come with me; I wan’t t’ talk t’ you.” Polly hurriedly urged George Anderson to excuse her and led Max toward an ob- scure street. She was weak with appre- hension and sick with repugnance at this man whom she had once so complacently accepted. Max was genially confident of his ground and lost no time in revealing the purpose of his visit. ‘J ain’t in the burlesque game no more,” he announced. ‘“ They couldn’t keep wise little Maxie down very long. Got two musi- cal comedies out playin’ f’r me now, an’ i’m goin’ to put on a whale of a jazzy show right on Broadway that ‘ll make the ‘ Fol- 4 Arcosy SONG OF THE SWAN. 369 lies’ look like a baby’s funeral. When I was wise ’nough to frame up that old Juno act it sure give me a start!” “That’s fine, Max,” Polly half-heartedly complimented. “Yeh! If y’ got the goods y’ sure can make good!” assented Max. ‘“How’d you come to land in Reed+ bury?” hesitantly inquired Polly, uncort< sciously conforming her diction to his. “Saw a press notice "bout this Girl with a Cry in Her Voice, an’ it sounded good t? me, so I thought I’d scout a little an’ see if she didn’t have the makin’s of a star in her, Y’ could ’a’ knocked me down with a4 feather when I saw who ’twas.” “How did you like my voice?” ‘* Aw, it’s good. But say! Id like t’ see you in tights now! Y’ve sure got a greater shape than ever, an’ that’s sayin’ a lot!” “It’s skirts for me now, Max.” “ Still got that bug bout bein’ a reg’lat prima donna, wearin’ skirts an’ singin’, eh?” “Yes, Max; I can do both now.” “Ever think o’ leavin’ this tank town?” ‘No; I’m-very happy here.” “ Don't ever get thirsty for a good drink an’ a jazzy cabaret?” . ** Never.” ‘““ How’d y’ like to come with me an’ stat in my new show?” “No. Max; I’m sorry, but I’m off the show game f’r good.” ‘ Wouldn’t like to see y’r name in bright lights on Broadway?” “Not at all.” “Sure ’bout that?” ‘“* Absolutely sure.” Max fished from a morocco case an ornate gold and amber cigarette holder, filled it, and stuck its prodigious length into his mouth at an impudent angle. “ Don’t be too sure!” he truculently ob- served. “I’ve got a contract with you, young lady, that’s never been filled!” “You mean—” “Yeh! I mean I ain’t overlookin’ any chances t’ help little Max, the wise old bird! You're a bigshit now, an’ I can make y’ the biggest thing on Broadway. If you ain’t wise ’nough t’ know it, I’m right there t’ help y’ t’ see sense, an’ to help you along —an’ me, too!” COMnnicloook <= (C@