Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

186 the bleedin’ time. That’s a ’ell of a game ter play hon a covey! But I ought ter ‘ave known better. I suppose now as ’ow yer wants this?” He fumbled in his trousers pocket, and bringing out the silver coins, counted them slowly into Hardwick’s outstretched hand. ‘Two bob, an’ a tanner an’ two th’rpuny bits. That’s three bob haltogether. S’elp me! That’s all I took.” ““That’s all I’ve got,” Hardwick said as he returned the coins to his pocket. “G’wan. Wot are yer tryin’ ter give me. ‘That ain’t the price of a drink. Yer mean ter tell me that’s hall ye’ve got?” Hardwick nodded, and releasing his hold on Red Head’s ankle, rose slowly to his feet, stretching his hands wearily above his head. The little man eyed him warily and rose, too, ready to dodge a blow or bolt as the occasion demanded, or opportunity offered. “Well,” he demanded, “ wot hare yer goin’ ter do wiv me?” “T don’t know—what’s your name?” ““Samson—Dick Samson! My pals calls me Ginger Dick, but, lumme! I’m ’anged hif I knows w’y. Your name’s ’Ardwick, ain’t hit? I’ve ’eard hof you. You're that bleedin’ American chap wot’s lookin’ fer a job an’ can’t find one, ain’t yer?” Hardwick nodded. Well?” “Well? I asks again. Wot are you go- in’ ter do wiv me?” - “JT might get something for turning you over to the police,” Hardwick said, eying Ginger Dick speculatively. “I bet you’re wanted.” | “ Lumme, yes,” the other agreed cheerful- ly. “ Allus wanted. But they won’t give you anything, cully. JI ain’t valuable enough. I don’t do any I. D. B.—(illicit diamond buying)—or big stuff like that. They allus knows where they can get me an’ so, w’en they wants ter arrest anybody— which is most frequent—they runs me in and I does a seven days wivout ’ard labor— gets good grub an’ don’t ’ave ter pay board —w’ile there’s a line in their rag of a noos- paper abart ‘ hour efficient police.’ ” “Do you think they’d arrest me if I threw a stone through the hotel window?” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Gawd, yes, Yank! But don’t you do hit. They’d give you the limit. They ain’t got no use fer Yanks in this dorp. Now me, I’m a privileged character, so to speak. Hi’m a bloomin’ institootion. But speakin’ strite, now: Is that hall yer’ve got—three bally bob?” Hardwick nodded. “And no more coming to yer?” ‘““ No—unless I do some I. D. B. or—” “ Don’t yer do that, cully. Ten years on the breakwater at Cape Town hif they catch yer at that; an’*they would—a green’orn like wot you is. But you was goin’ ter say something else. Or—” “Or sign some papers for Isaacs & Smithers.” Ginger Dick scowled fiercely. “You a friend of them bleedin’ blight- ers?” “Not so you’d notice it. Only I thought I’d landed a job with them, my first one. They wanted me to sign a report of some property I hadn’t seen. So I found myself out of a job again.” ‘An’ they was a goin’ ter pay you fer siening hit?” Hardwick nodded glumly. “Fifty pounds and more commissions,” Ginger Dick whistled softly. “And you refused!” His tone was in- credulous. “ Wot fer?” “The property might have been very valuable,” Hardwick said slowly and as if assuring himself that his action had been a correct one. “And I couldn’t sign a re- port saying that it was valueless, could I?” ““ No, hof course you couldn’t,” said Gin- ger Dick, mocking the other’s tone and roll- ing his eyes upward in a mock pious ex- pression. “So wot did you say to the per- ishin’ blighter?” “T told him to go to hell!” “Ow, yer did, did yer? Gor blimme! Ain’t yer the blinkin’ sentimental bloke? Throwin’ aw’y jimmyogoblins because yer was afraid o’ cheatin’ somebody yer don’t know an’ never will know.” “Tt belonged to a girl—” Hardwick be- gan lamely, but was silenced by Ginger Dick’s look of utter scorn, “A girl, a bit of fluff! Lumme. That makes yer a bigger foo] than hever. Who’d GOmichbooks And I wouldn’t. (C@