Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

giggl “ You have no idea, Mr. Rutledge,” Miss MacTavern said evenly, “ the nice things that man with the scar sid about white men while we were in the rowboat.” “ Lifebeat.” “ The lifeboat.” “And I suppose you're being sarcastic. His language must have been frightful; cer- tainly not fit for a very young girl like you te hear.” She sailed smoothly past the quite un- veiled dig. “ Not at all. He said you were so ideal- istic.” Rutledge gave her one squeezed-up look, intended to be a perfect blend between Smeerimess. and viciousness, and returmed to @ minute observing ai his prospective field moise that was something between a sob and a giggle. This time the giggle part of it was quite unmistakable. He wheeled on her sharply. Her face was perfectly ex- pressionless, although from the rapid lower- ing of her eyes, they had undoubtedly been focused upon the back of his head. “Tf you think this is a joke—” “ [ don’t; indeed I don't, Mr. Rutledge!” Those eyes were full upon him now. He into them. “Say,” Sparks broke in, “if you two birds don’t cut out this chinnin’ and you, hee car we chem trouble. Come out of them g “He ducked.” It struck Rutledge that his gi piece hadn't screamed. He glaneed covertly at her. Her face was a bit drawn, net much color left in it, but her eyes were bright—two disturbingly, shining, interest- ing things. “ Who was it, Sparks?” “* Just a Chink. Back of the stack now, I guess. From now on you and me play Sister Annes, Pete.” He turned obligingly to Miss MaeTavern. “She’s the dame m a yarn called ‘ Blue Beard” who looks for. dust on a road from a castle-tower tumret window.” “Oh, yes?” Miss MacTavern firmly suppressed any further “ neises.” “I think I've read the story.” “ lt’s.a kid’s yarn. A guy what must Rave been nuts sent it abeard with the ship’s I- brary. I never piped it was a kid’s layout until I comes acress another yarn im the same book dealin’ with fairies—seme skitt labeled Titania, like a Cunard liner, and oh, bey! was I mad? Say, you couldn't see that there book travelin’ into the drink for dust.” Rutledge fired. “Fact number three, Pete. You get him?” “Only parted his hair,” Rotledge growled. “He stuck his head up ower the tap of the ladder. Guess it’s best to wait, Mid, mall Chey shee eke at