Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

_ A SCRAP OF PAPER. | ute. But I'll bet he’s riding around in the car all right. It’s the same thing—it’s all credit.” Under the fire of this irrefutable logic from his friend, Allen was weakening per- ceptibly. His visitor saw it and pushed his advantage. ‘“ You want to help me, don’t you Char- lie? You know I need it—I gotta have it —to-night.”’ “ Yes; but suppose anything went wrong —suppose—”’ ‘ How can anything go wrong when—” ‘Listen, Jim, Um perfectly willing to pay you the two hundred.” ‘“We ought to pay it, Charles,” Allen interjected. ‘We've got plenty of money,” her hus- band went on. we get it, but I never spent it ahead of time before.”’ . “Yes, you did,” young Mr. Blake put in quickly. ‘ You spend it ahead of time when you run up any bills. Or owe some- body—like me, for instance. It’s all a question of credit—it’s the same thing.” ‘“ Yes, but drawing a check when—”’ “How can anything go wrong with me right there in the bank? Don’t you sup- pose the check would come to me first thing? I wouldn’t send it back—Id call you right up—and we'd fix it some way. Besides, what’s the use of all that? You'll have the maney—you’ve got it already— you've sold the flivver.” Young Mr. Blake drew a fountain pen from his pocket. ‘“ Come on, Charlie,” he urged, “be a good sport, like I was. | helped you, and you know you got twice as much money as I have. This 'll help me out of a deuce of a mess.”’ And most reluctantly Allen drew the check. . When young Mr. Blake got outside ten minutes later with the check for two hun- dred dollars safely tucked away in his in- side pocket, he walked rapidly down the dimly lighted, maple-lined avenue on which the Allens lived, in the direction of the Rosewood Country Club. He had considerably over a mile to go, and when he got to the club it was nearly ten o’clock. Without difficulty he located Mrs. _ his inside pocket. ‘“We spend it as fast as ° 285 the gentleman he had come to meet-—a portly, prosperous-looking, middle-aged in- dividual, seated comfortably in a corner of the clubhouse porch smoking and contem- plating the serenity of the moonlit golf- course. Young Mr. Blake dropped into a chair beside him. ‘* Good evening, Mr. Cameron —I thought you’d still be here. I got the two hundred, all right.”’ Mr. Cameron took his feet down from the porch railing and shook the proffered hand. “ Hello, Blake. Great night, isn’t it?” “Yes, sir, it is,’ young Mr. Blake agreed. ‘I got the two hundred—you’re sure that ‘ll be enough?” He reached into He was breathing fast— partly from the exertion of his. walk and partly because, now that he was about to use this check which he knew was at the moment, at least, without value, the glib theories he had expounded to Allén did not seem so ieasonable. Mr. Cameron’s eves twinkleds “ You never were made for a speculator, Blake.” “You're right I wasn’t, Mr. Cameron. You get me out of this, and I'll let Wall Street alone—I know when I’m beat. They got too much class dowr there for me—I’ll stick to poker if I have to gamble.” He produced the check. “Check for two hundred dollars— Charles Allen—you know him, Mr. Cam- eron—he owed it to me. Will that be enough to protect me?” Mr. Cameron took the check. ‘“ It was only to-morrow I was afraid of,” he said. “And it’s a short day. Monday- they’ll rally and go right on up. They’ll be back where you got in within two weeks.”’ ‘When they get there you get me out,” said young Mr. Blake. ‘He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘You're right—I’m no speculator.” Mr. Cameron turned the check over in his hand. “I'll take this in to-morrow morning and put it to your credit. Just put your name here.” He handed it ‘back, and young Mr. Blake endorsed it. Mr. Cameron slipped the check into a handsomely monogramed leather wallet. ‘“T suppose it’s a good check, Blake,” he remarked jocularly, and grinned. EOPMICLOOC (E@)