Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE, Pretty nice, ain’t hit? Yus, Burke ’elped me. Allus can pick a winner—man or fluff —Burke can. And, blimme, you’re game.”’ Hardwick passed his hand across his eyes —seeking to collect his memories. ‘““ How did it come out—the fight? Did I win?” ‘“Blimme, yes. Smithers didn't ’ave the guts to come back to the line. Lucky fer you ’e ’adn’t. He’d ’ave knocked you cold hif ’e ’ad. You was hout, standin’ hon yer feet—only yer didn’t know hit. That’s the difference a-tween you hand Smithers. “Hit was the best mill I’ve ever seen. Burke said the same. Yer made a ’it wiv ‘im. ’E’s a-goin’ to make the blokes come across, taking hup a collection fer yer, ’e is. An’ there won’t be anybody ’olding back w’en ’e passes the ’at.”’ Hardwick winced. “ Wot’s the game now?” Hardwick had risen to his feet. “Tm going to stop Burke taking a collection. He mustn’t do that.” Ginger Dick’s eyes opened wide in aston- ishment. ‘An’ w’y not? W’y the ’ell not, I asks yer?” ) “‘ Because—”’ “ They ain’t no because to hit. Youre broke an’ you ain’t got a job, or likely ter ‘ave one for a long time ter come. Well, then?” Hardwick moved toward the door of the hut. “Tm grateful to you and [’ll show it some day,” he said, holding out his hand. *“* Aw, hell! We’re pals, ain’t we? All right, then, we stick together. Where hare yer goin’?” “Tm going to tell Burke I don’t want money—I want a job. Perhaps he'll give me one.” “ You’re a queer duck, Yank. W’y not take the heasy picking w’en they’re hoffered yer? And, anyway, you wouldn’t take the kind of job Burke coulc offer yer. It hain’t hin your line.” “Why not?” “°FE’s a himporter.”’ “T don’t care. If I can’t get an en- gineering job—I’]l take anything. What does Burke »mport.” 191 “ Lydies—of a sort!” “Oh!” Hardwick’s tone was one of in- tense disgust. ‘‘ Then I’m doubly damned if Vl take any money from him.” “ Hall right!” Ginger Dick said placat- ingly. ‘‘ You don’t ’ave ter. Look!” From his pocket he pulled out a handful of golden coins. ‘“ That'll keep hus goin’ fer a while, won’t hit? I did a bit o’ collectin’ meself w’ile you an’ Smithers was a-millin’. Now you go hon lookin’ fer a nice cushy job, a nice ’onest job, an’ I'll stake yer.” ‘Youre a good scout, Ginger Dick,” Hardwick said impulsively. “I don’t be- lieve you’re half as bad as you pretend. Now come on up to the hotel with me and I’ll call the subscription party off. Per- haps I can strike somebody for a job.” ‘* All right,”’ Ginger Dick grumbled. “ But I’m thinkin’ I’m a bleedin’ fool ter go along with you. Look wot’s ’appened to yer to-day—an’ hall because yer so bleedin’ soft. Do you know ’ow to use a revolver?” Hardwick nodded and added with a smile: ‘““IT cut my teeth on one, Ginger Dick.” ‘“ That’s a yarn I’ve ’eard before from men who went w’ite w’en a door slammed. Well, ’ave yer got a revolver?” “No. I thought men didn’t carry them out here and—and I sold mine in Cape Town the day I landed. Burke’s the first man I’ve seen heeled.” “Yer don’t. need ’em hoften, that’s a fac’. But w’en you does—yer need ’em bad. ’Ere! IJ’ll give yer one o’ mine.” From the table drawer he took two re- volvers, stuck one in his belt, under his coat, and gave the other to Hardwick. “ It’s loaded,” he said, ‘‘ but yer’d better take some more cartridges. Never know wot may turn hup. Lumme! You’re more bother than a bleedin’ kid.” But for all his gruff tones, Ginger Dick carefully, almost tenderly, helped Hard- wick on with his coat, and, after oarefully extinguishing the fire and the candles, led the way outside. It was pitch-dark and Hardwick, not knowing the road, stumbled and would have fallen several times had not his companion taken him by the arm and steadied him. CORNICLO© S (C@