Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 167: what you’re looking at

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

BING, BANG, BOOM! jest the same as resigned ever since last night.” “‘ Ah!” said Bert, looking grimly at Bid- well. ‘“ You'll have to make this arrest with more than your trigger-finger, Bidwell. I was figuring on taking you on next, any- way. When I get through with you, you're going to tell us what you know about that fire in my hotel the other night. want to take off your coat, go to it, because I’m ready to begin.” Bidwell did not pause to remove his coat. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushed at Bert, who bdéd@ed away warily, sizing up his man as he circled about him. “You should have taken off your coat,” said Bert evenly, ‘“‘ because you'll find it kind of warm in a minute. I’m glad you’re not like the puppy you’ve been calling Boss. I can use my fists on you!” ' He stepped in, feinted for Bidwell’s bulg- ing jaw with his right, and when the presi- dent threw up his guard, ripped a sizzling left to the man’s midriff. Bidwell’s breath went from ‘him in a heavy grunt, his arms went down; and Bert streamed rights and lefts into the unprotected face. Bidwell went down; but he was up again in a moment and, with an ugly oath on his lips, rushed into a clinch. For several moments the men swayed back and forth, locked in a straining em- brace; then they went crashing together to the ground, with the heavier Bidwell on top. As soon as Bidwell had wrapped his arms about him, Bert knew that he had met a worthy foe. The man’s muscles were like steel, and his rage invested him with added - strength. But he realized, too, that Bid- well’s. methods were crude; that his knowl- edge of wrestling was as inadequate as his knowledge of boxing. _ It was not difficult to preconceive the - actions of such an opponent; and as Bert fell, with Bidwell on top of him, he waited unstruggling, for Bidwell to do the expected thing; to withdraw one hand from beneath his prostrate foe for the purpose of finish- ing the battle with his fist. To the breathless watchers of the strug- gle, though, the battle seemed to be about ended, with Bidwell victorious. Ruth War- If you’ (63) ren read the verdict in their gloomy faces and heavy silence, and her throat tightened with a sudden, inexplicable sorrow. ‘“‘ Oh—Bert!” she called softly, a sob ly- ing over her words. He heard her, and a thrill of happiness tingled through him. Because love is bitter- sweet, sometimes a cup of honey, sometimes a cup of gall, man has come to fear it, even as he yearns for it, and he will acknowledge that it has conquered him only after he has struggled long against it. Now, as Bert lay there, in that moment while he waited for Bidwell to lift his: fist above him, the full realization that he loved Ruth came to him. There was no fear of love in his heart now. She ‘had called him Bert! Bidwell raised himself a trifle, withdrew his right hand from beneath Bert’s back, and clenched his fist to strike. But the in- tendéd blow never fell. With a quickness that revealed Bert’s preparedness, Bert’s hand reached upward and grasped the up- raised wrist; and, with a howl of pain, Bid- well rolled from Bert’s chest and lay groan- ing and clasping his twisted yrist, while Bert jumped to his feet. “ NOM, said Bert grimly, standing above Bidwell; ‘are you ready to tell us about that little fire—or do you want some more?” Discretion should have been the better part of Bidwell’s valor just then. Beft’s wrist-lock had left his right hand a useless weapon, and already Bert’s fists had worked havoc with this face. But Bidwell’s rage knew no reason. He scrambled unsteadily to his feet and rushed again at Bert. And then the battering began. When it was fin- shed, Bidwell lay again at Bert’s feet, blub- bering, blood-streaming, with only a glim- mer of consciousness left to him. Bert leaned over him, panting heavily from the exertion of hitting and hitting n. ““ Now,” the repeated, ‘“‘ are you ready to tell us about that little fire—or do you want some more?”’ “Turner,” Bidwell whispered— Turner —started it—” ‘ And why did Spigot leave office?” asked Bert. ‘“ What was the real reason?” (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) S (C(O) nn