Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

AN a big crowd where I could duck away from Flanagan and lose him. My thoughts on the collectin’ business about then wasn’t of the kind you could repeat in anybody’s hearin’. ‘All right,” agrees Flanagan, grabbin’ me'by the arm. ‘ We walk.” And we did—ten miles if we went a foot. For a big guy this Flanagan was some pe- destrian! Also, he queered my little plan of losin’ him in the crowd by holdin’ onto my arm as though I was /is prisoner. The thicker the crowd we found, the harder he held on. Losin’ either one of my legs was a simple task compared with shakin’ off his boiler-maker’s grip. We went all through the financial dis- trict, walked through Battery Park, had a look at the Aquarium, strolled up West Street, wandered through Greenwich Village and at last found ourselves in front of Jef- ferson Market Court. “ Well,” says Flanagan, “ there’s a lock- up here; let’s go in.” “No! No!” I cried. ‘“ Not here! don’t take your kind of cases here.” “Oh, they don’t, eh?” he grinned. “ Well, ‘where do they: take them?” = Further up-town,” I told him. “ All right,” Flanagan nods. “ Let’s go up-town.”’ We walk up Sixth Avenue to Forty- second Street. There Flanagan hauls out _ They his watch. “H’m!” he comments. ‘“ We got to hurry.” “Hurry! Whye” “ Tf we don’t, we'll be late,” he tells me. “Late! For what?” “ You'll see,” he predicts, haulin’ me to- ward the Elevated station. “ Hey, wait!” I try to tell him. want to ride; let’s keep on walkin’. He don’t make no reply; just drags me up the stairs and we get aboard a Harlem train. ‘Where are we goin’?” I inquired. “ You'll see,” he tells me, grinnin’. - “You want to remember you’re my pris- oner, and—”’ “T know it,” he says. “Well, you ought to do what I say: then. I don’t want to ride; I want to—” “1 don’t >>? OUTSTANDIN’ ACCOUNT. ool ‘““ Oh, yes, ye do!” he grins. “ Ye needa rest after all yer watcin id The train rattles north to the Ninety- ninth Street station. There Flanagan, who’s running the whole show, announces that we’re to get off. “Oh,” I say, hopeful, “ you’re goin’ home. You’re goin’ to take my suggestion of layin’ low until you have some money toe give me.” . ‘““ Maybe,” he laughs. ‘“ But first we’re goin’ to see some friends o’ mine.” ‘Friends of yours! Who?” ““Ye’ll see soon,” he grins. along.” He strengthens the grip he already has On my arm and leads me along the street. My bean wasn’t in any condition to receive impressions about the route we was tak- in’. I stumbled along in a daze. We might as well have been in China for all I knew about what was goin’ on around me. Suddenly I wake up to the fact that we've stopped. I look around me, and the first thing my eyes light on is—a green lamp. We're in front of a police station! “ Flanagan,” I say, suddenly comin’ out of my trance, “as I’ve told you before, I don’t want to deliver you up to the law. Be sensible, man—just hand me a couple of bucks, I'll mark it off what you owe Fein- stein & Reilly, and I’ll let you go.” ‘Nothin’ doin’!” he laughs. “TI insist that ye take me into this station-house!” “You're forcin’ me to do somethin’ that hurts me,” I object. ‘I know it,’’ says he, pullin’ me closer to him and draggin’ me up the steps, “ but I wouldn’t have ye dodge doin’ yer duty.” I squirm and twist as near like an eel as I can, but years of boiler-makin’ has made Flanagan’s good right arm too strong to yield to any strength that Ihave. The lieu- tenant at the desk looks up. as he hears us wrasslin’ across the floor. “Well, Patrolman Flanagan,” he in- quires, when we’ve reached the rail, “ what have we here?” Patrolman Flanagan! I think I fainted. Anyway that station-house started to whirl around like a carousel. There was a buzz in my ears and the lieutenant at the desk suddenly turned into’a long line of husky * Come GomiGchdooks (C@