Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

LUCK! bere brother-in-law at the ather end of the wire, and they palaver for a while and then Landsturn comes back to talk some more to Bill. It’s about fifteen or twenty min- utes, and then the telephone bell rings. It’s the ‘brother-in-law out in Long Island City. He and Landsturn do some more chinning over the wire, and Landsturn asks a lot of questions, and then he comes back to Bill. , “You're a pretty decent sort of fel- low,”” he concedes to Bill, ‘“ and I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t help you out. I'll write you my check, and we'll go right around and have it certified,” he continues. And that’s what they do with- out any further delay. Incidentally it may interest you to know that Landsturn sold the machine two weeks later for $18,000. You can find out about it any time you go over to Center Street. It probably wasn’t more than twenty minutes or a half-hour at the most before Bill was back with W. A. Clarke, waving his certified check for $14,000. U $19 ‘““Do I get her?” he asks. ‘““Do you get her? Why, Bill, I’ve been waiting for years for some one with brains enough to step in here and help me. The quicker you get into the family, the better I'll be satisfied.” And he heads Bill out to a taxi and shoots him up-town to where Lucy is wait- ing in utter plumb ignorance of all this. It’s only early afternoon by the time Bill gets there. ‘“How much do you suppose I’ve made to-day?” is Bill’s first word, after they’d had just one kiss. “Enough to get married on?” Lucy responds. “It ought to be enough for a starter. It totals just $11,500,” says Bill. ‘“ Oh, Bill, I knew you could do it!” Lucy shouts, and squeezes him to her, tight. ‘‘ But what are we waiting for here? The marriage license bureau closes at four o'clock, doesn’t it?”’ Luck? Say—you ought to see Billy, Junior! U MYSTERIES "T WEN TY bad men in the bar one night, Each one shoving his foot on the rail; None of them sober and most of them tight, Every one cussing to kick up a fight, Each one a devil and swinging his tail; Most of them dead when the scrap was done— Nobody knew how the row begun! A squally day and a celluloid boat, Launched on a river of gasoline; “ As freaky a craft as was ever afloat,” The captain swore in his husky throat, “With her fire-box next to her magazine.” He lighted his pipe and tossed his match—- Now how could the conflagration catch? Generals, admirals, emperors, kings, And babes from the cradle trained to kill: Davids swinging Goliath slings, Navies filled with eagle wings, Nations of armies, life a drill, Courtiers cunning in wild excuse— What a surprise when the war broke loose! TC OU CWOOKS CO