Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

AN OUTSTANDIN’ & Reilly to take it to blazes out 0’ me house two months after they put it in, and they wouldn’t, but kept sendin’ ’round their dummed collectors till they near drove me mad. Now, if what ye’re here for is to get the stuff, I might as well tell ye that it’s been in the city dump these fifteen year’. It wasn’t—” “Huh!” I broke in. “ A fine line of bull you got. But you don’t get away with it, Flanagan. Not with me, you don’t. Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, knock- in’ a re-putable business concern like Fein- stein & Reilly. You know as well as I do that their goods was the best on the market —absolutely the best. They trusted you, Flanagan, and what did you do? You be- trayed the trust, took advantage of Fein- stein & Reilly’s kindness, and stole their furniture. That’s what you done, Flanagan; you stole from them. You're a thief! You’re—”’ “Tt’s a thief I am, is it?” says he,. grin- nin’. “I pay them—more than sixty bucks it was—for a collection of junk that wasn’t worth ten. I tell them to take their dummed stuff out o’ me sight, and they won’t; and it’s a thief they call me! Haw, haw, haw!”’ “ You can’t laugh it off with me, Flana- gan,” I snap. “ You'll come across with the dough you owe Feinstein & Reilly, or—” “ Or—what?” he growls in a way that suddenly makes me remember his height, weight and generally forbiddin’ exterior. ** Or—or—” I stammer. “Go on; I’m listenin’,” he says, pcicnin’. “Or [ll lock you up,” I threaten, that bein’ the first thing I could think of. “Lock me up, is it?” he repeats, his grin growin’ wider. “Lock me up, eh? Ye'’d lock me up, would ye?”’ “The devil!” I say to myself. ‘‘ Why- did I tell him that? He prob’ly knows I ain’t got no right to lock him up.” But to him I growl fierce as I can: ‘ Yes, J’d lock you up. I’d do it in a minute—if the judge said so.” _“ What judge?” he says quick like. ‘““ Why—er—Judge Giles,” I te!l him, thinkin’ maybe the boss could help me out. ““ Judge Giles?” he asks, lookin’ inter- ested. ‘‘ Where’s his court?” “ He’s a—er—that is—I mean he’s a—a ACCOUNT. «© S77 receiver’s judge.”’ dizzy. “ Yes, that’s what he is—a receiver’s judge, and his court is—say, look here, Flanagan,” I yelp, ‘I didn’t come here to answer questions for you. What I come here for was coin. You owe Feinstein & Reilly four hundred and thirty-eight dollars and thirty-two cents,” I tell him after con- sultin’ the card. “I want that kale. You been stallin’ with me long enough; it’s time now to come across. How much are you goin’ to pay me?” “Not a damn cent!” he says, almost before the words are out of my mouth. “What! You defy Judge Giles! You refuse to—”’ 3 ‘Not one cent!” he repeats, stern but easylike. Then he sits there lookin’ at me for a few seconds. “ Well,” he asks at last, ‘“‘ what’re ye goin’ to do about it?” c¢ Why, er’? ‘* Ain’t ye goin’ to arrest me?” “* Aw, say, Flanagan,” I exclaim, stallin’. “* A feller like you don’t want to be pinched. Think of the disgrace to your family. Think how your little ones would feel to see their father dragged out—” “ Dragged out!” he interrupts, laughin’ at me. “If ye see anybody around here that’s goin’ to drag me out,o’ any place, ye’ve got better eyes than I have.” “Don’t make things no worse for your- self by threatenin’ an officer,’ I warn him. “TI ain’t threatenin’,” he says meek like. “1m just tellin’ ye I ain’t payin’ no money to Feinstein & Reilly. If that means [I got to be arrested,” he adds, looking real heroic, “let the law take its course. I'll go along quiet with ye.” “Gee, Flanagan!” I’m gettin’ scared now. Suppose I do have to go through with my bluff of arrestin’ this bird? What am I goin’ to do with him? Where am I goin’ to take him? ‘I don’t want to arrest you,” I tell him. ‘“ I don’t want to spoil any guy’s career by puttin’ him behind the bars. You can save yourself this awful disgrace by payin’ Feinstein & Reilly. Even if you can’t pay the whole bill,” I suggest, “you might. just give me a few bucks. That’d show you mean to pay—”’ ‘““ But I don’t mean to pay!” he informs me. : Gomicbook I’m beginnin’ to get (C©