Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

630 sightedly set off in the general direction of Chicago or New York, whichever was nearer. Skid’s theatrical career covered a period of two years, or forty-one engagements, and his grin and fixed belief in his ability were still with him. This, too, in spite of the facts that his face made one think of the taste of a green persimmon, and his general appearance indicated that an ap- prentice carpenter had hastily constructed him of two-inch slats, plastered a shock ef wheat atop his creation, and draped upon it a few convenient articles of clothing dis- carded by men of different sizes. Every- thing about Skid was peculiar, even to his good nature and his ability to win friends despite their convictions. On this occasion Skid reached a trestle about a mile from Willowdale, on the way to his forty-second theatrical engagement, when he happened to remember that Lom- berd was twenty miles from Willowdale, and that Jim Baker, whom he had known as a boy, had been running a shoe-store in Lombard a year previous. Skid had met Jim in Sioux City, and Jim had invited him to drop in some day for a visit. . It is not surprising that Skid believed Jim meant it; and when the thought of Jim’s invitation came to him, Skid sat down upon the trestle and considered it yery seriously. Finally, he nedded his lean head and plodded back to the Willowdale Hotel, where the Belgian Maids’ manager sat on the veranda. | “Harlow,” said Skid earnestly, “‘ you are a rotten actor, and a rottener manager, and the rottenest poker player I ever knew. If there is one thing in the world of which you are sublimely ignorant, it is the art of playing poker. I have walked two miles to tell you that if I could not play poker better than you can— ' At this point, Harlow, who is human, and not invulnerable to insult, interrupted scathingly, and a long, heated argument ensued. The result of this argument was that some time later Harlow and Skid faced each other across a table in an up-stairs room for three hours, at the end of which time Skid had subtracted from his recent manager everything except the suit. on his ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. back, carfare for the company to the next Stand, and one back drop. That is how it happened that when Skid Smith dropped in on Jim Baker in his Lom- bard store, he was resplendent in Harlow’s plaid suit and two dollars’ worth of ton- sorial attention. On his face was the char- acteristic grin, and in one hip-pocket was the evidence to convict him of having, for the first time in his life, a great deal = foney. “ Hello, Jim!” said Skid. ‘I have come to spend a week or so with you. I know that you’re glad to see me. How is the lit- tle lady who was soon to become Mrs. Jim? Is business good? Where can we get a drink?”’ Jim replied satisfactorily to the last two questions, but neglected to say anything about the little lady, and Skid stored that up in his memory and went out to look at the town. This did not take a great while. Lombard was and is peculiarly similar to several thousand other towns, except that it has its own personal lake, with an island in the middle. After supper at the hotel, Jim and Skid sat out upon the veranda, and Skid again touched upon the little lady. He could see that Jim was in the throes of something painful, and his suspicions were aroused. “Jim,” he said, “this afternoon you neglected to answer my query in regard to the lady, and I have been wondering if your present unbecoming dejection is due to some slight misunderstanding.”’ It is characteristic of Skid that he can meddie directly in such mattérs without | being killed, and Jim smiled sourly. ‘You need wonder no longer,’’ he said. ‘““There is no misunderstanding, I assure- you. Ann Temple has made it perfectly clear to me that I have been supplanted by a stock actor named Bert Eno. This Eno is summering here, and he is notable for his sparkle and wit and vivacity. I don’t know that I blame Ann much. She is a wonder- ful young woman, and I’m rather slow and old-fashioned. Only, I can’t help thinking this Bert Eno is a false alarm. I’m afraid for Ann, Skid.” “ That’s a right nice way to put it,” said Skid. “I don’t know this Eno, but any ‘CONMUC NOOK CO