Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

AN OUTSTANDIN’ ACCOUNT. ‘Mornin’, boss,” I say as old Giles spots me. ‘ May I inquire the purpose and inten- tions of the Frisco decorations? I'll admit the pitchers is pleasin’, but—” “Glad you come, Joe. Been waitin’ for you,” grins the boss. “I got somethin’ important to tell you. Come inside,” duckin’ through the door. “ Joe Conner,” he tells me when we're sat by his desk, “ we’re in the way of makin’ a pot full of money.” “Tt did look like rain when I got up this mornin’,” I remark, “ but it’s clearin’ up nice, and—”’ ‘“‘What’re you talkin’ about?” demands the boss, lookin’ at me fierce. “That ‘we’ stuff,’ I tells him. “ Any time you’ve got a scheme by which we are goin’ to clean up big, it turns out somehow that the only part of the we that gets theirs is yourself.” ‘““ Aw, Joe,” he says, like he was hurt, “you know I always treat you fair.” “Oh, sure!” I say sarcastic. “ You couldn’t treat me better—not if you was my stepmother.” ‘“* Anyhow,” he says, comin’ back to the subject, “you seen what the artist was puttin’ on the door.” “ C-O-L,” I tell him, “ but what—”’ “ Don’t you know what they’re the first three letters of?” “ Well,” I say, “it might be Colorado, or it might be cholera, or it might be collar- button, or—” ‘“* Collections,”’ he tells me. ce Hah?” - “ Collections,” he says, grinnin’, ‘“ The Giles Confidential Detective Agency is ‘ about to take up a side line—collections.” “Of what?” I ask. ‘‘ Oil paintin’s, or butterflies, or—”’ ‘“‘ Bad debts,” he says. ‘‘ Yes, Joe, since our business in straight detective work—’”’ “Any detective work we ever did was never straight,” I interrupt. “business in straight detective work,” he goes on, payin’ no attention to my dig, “js a little slow just now; we're going to branch out a little and collect money that’s due people for—” “Where do I fit in?” I ask. ‘““Oh,” he says careless, “ you’re to be the collector.” old “Oh, I am, eh? Well, just by way of gettin’ a little practise, suppose you slip me the thirty-seven eighty-eight that you owe me for wages and expenses last week.” “ Aw, Joe, you know I’m a little short, and—”’ ‘““Come across!” I order him threaten’ like. “ If I can’t collect money that’s com- in’ to me personal, how am I goin’ tu get it for other people?” He had the dough, and I knew it. After thinkin’ for a minute he gives it to me, and we’re friends again. “OQ. K.,” I say, sinkin’ the coin. “ Now get your story off your chest.” ‘* Well,” he says, “it’s like this: Mr, Millard Fillmore Dugan, receiver for the bankrupt firm of Feinstein & Reilly—” “ That’s the instalment plan furniture people?” “Yes, Mr. Dugan called here yesterday afternoon and suggested that I use the facilities of my agency—” ‘“* Meanin’ Ed Taylor and me?” I suggest, ‘“ Joe,” says the boss real snappy, “ I wish you’d cut out tellin’ everybody that I’ve only got two detectives in my agency.” “TI will,” I promise. “ You ain’t got twa detectives, anyhow; you only got one—me, You can’t call Ed a detective, can you?” “ He’s honest, anyways,” says the boss, lookin’ at me hard. “No,” I tell him, “ just thick.” “Aw, shut up! Anyhow, Mr. Dugan wanted me to take up the work of collectin’ the — the — er — outstandin’ accounts of Feinstein & Reilly, and I said I weuld.” ‘“Qutstandin’ accounts means money Feinstein & Reilly got beat out of.” “Well,” admits the boss doubtful like, , ‘““ T suppose you could put it that way.” ‘“And you think you’re goin’ to make 4 pile of dough doin’ it?” ‘“Why, of course. Mr. Dugan told mé we ought to clear—” “Bunk! If Feinstein & Reilly went broke on these outstandin’ accounts, as you call them, avhere do you think you figure tos | ‘“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” says the boss. “Oh!” IT remark thoughtful. “ As usual, I do the work, and you gather the jack!” COMMICLOOokKs (C@