Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

By JAMES W. SIMS RONSON was worried. It could be B plainly seen, in his hurried, erratic, movements; in the dark scowl, upon his face; in the nervous way he lighted a cigarette, only to throw it away, before he had taken half a dozen puffs. Yes, Bronson was worried, and small wonder, for to-night, at eleven o’clock, he was going to kill old Abner Dawson. There was no other course of action open. The fact, that Abner Dawson was his uncle, and had raised him from boyhood, made not the slightest difference. Old Abner Dawson threatened to stand in the way of the rosy future that Bronson had planned for himself, and for that, he must be put out of the way! Conscience formed but a small part of Bronson’s makeup; gratitude, none at all. The fact, that he was planning, and would, doubtless, execute, a cold-blooded murder, bothered him not in the least. What he was afraid of, were the consequences, should he get caught! That was the reason for the heavy scowl; the nervous, erratic, move- ments! Bronson was thinking of all the men that had sat in the “ hot-chair,” or dangled at the end of a rope, and these reflections were not pleasant. After dwelling upon these disagreeable adjuncts of crime, his thoughts naturally turned to the reason for this planning, and this train of cogitation was very unpleasant, also, to judge by his expression. There had been a very sordid scene to-day in his uncle’s library. It was the same old story that had caused Bronson’s trouble: wine, women, and song; and old Abner Dawson had finally lost patience, and had put his foot down, hard. He had started a tirade, 301 comiclooolk