Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

THE PACE MAKER. He hung up the receiver and leaned back, looking at me. I'll swear, the old-pirate was grinning! ‘ T’ll expect those bonds to-morrow morn- ing,” he said. ‘“ Your check ’Il be ready.” - The prosperous-looking stranger broke off suddenly and leaned toward the window. “ That was old man Winters’s corn crib, or I'm a goat!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Why, we’re within two miles of Fen- ville, aren’t we?” . “¢ Sure are,” returned the traveling man, grinning. “ ‘What did you do with your two tHousand dollars commission?”’ “T paid off that note, for one thing,” re- plied his companion, standing up and lifting down a satchel from the rack overhead. “The main thing is that I’d learned some- thing. I’d learned how to make money— not merely to earn it. See?” The traveling man stood up while the porter made various motions about his anatomy. “And now,” continued the other, “ I’m back home to see Bill Tate, and thank him for pulling me out of the hole. - Funny, but as soon as, I got that two thousand dollars commission in my pocket, I began to experi- ~ ence a change of feeling toward Bill. Why, I feel like I could hug him, right now! He certainly did me a good turn—although he doesn’t know it.” The train pulled up at a little red station, flanked by a plank platform of ancient vintage. The porter had gone ahead with the baggage of the two travelers, prepara- tory to alighting. The usual crowd of small- town loafers was outside, their necks craned curiously toward the emerging pas- _ sengers. “The old place looks as natural as ever, and twice as dingy,” observed the prosper- ous-looking stranger as he stepped down off the little stool and looked about him. “Why, as sure as I’m alive, there’s old Pete Wilson with his hack. Hello, Pete!” “The grizzled veteran addressed as ‘“‘ Pete” shifted his cud and stared at the advancing stranger. ‘‘ Dog-gone me if it ain’t Frank Black- ton!” he exclaimed, holding out a horny hand. - heartily. ** An’ lookin’ as smart as they make . 105 ’em.” The two hands clasped in a strong grip. “I allus said you’d make ’em set up an’ take notice, Frank. Ask anybody if I didn’t!” “I know you did, Pete,’’ said Blackton “And it was the faith of friends like you that—by the way, where can I find Bill Tate?” The veteran’s eyes twinkled. “You ain’t the only one that inquires about Bill,” he remarked, expectorating. ‘“‘ Bill’s considerable famous these days, ain’t he?” ‘He has certainly put this old town on the map,” fervently agreed the returned native. “And I'll have to admit, Pete, that I owe a good deal to Bill. About everything I have, in fact. Isn’t that so?” turning to the traveling man. ‘“‘ Rather,” assented that individual. “Where can I find him?” “Wall, I guess you'll have to go out to Greenhill cemetery if you want to see what’s left of Bill,” was Pete’s startling rejoinder. . “Dead?” The returned native’s aston- ishment was almost ludicrous to penole. “ Why—how— “Yep. He married old man Winters's oldest gal, three or four year after you left —the one that was sich a hand at writin’ composeetions in school, you rec’llect. Mind her?” Blackton nodded dumbly. “Wall, Bill got drunk the night of th’ weddin’, an’ fell into Riffle crick an’ got drownded. His widder, seein’ as her dad wouldn’t support her no more, had to go to writin’ fer a livin’. She took Bill’s name, ‘cause she said it was th’ least she could do to honor his mem’ry.” The traveling man “made” Fenville again two weeks later. He approached Pete ‘Wilson. ‘** What became of my friend Mr. Black- ton,” he inquired. ‘I hear that he left town on the next train that day.” — “He did,” grinned Pete, shifting his cud and wiping away an amber stream from his chin with the back of his hand. “ But the Widder Tate’s ridin’ around in the spankin’est, all-firedest, stylishest automo- bile you ever see. She says that Frank didn’t want to pay the return freight on it.” GOMMlepoo S CO@