Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

By PAUL DERESCO AUGSBURG Oh, the cable sings in its hollow slot And the flutes wail wild and the church bell booms, Just as they did when the slave girls’ lot Was told in the cries from the living tombs: Hilarious shriek and sailor curse, Maudlin sob and ribald toast, Midnight hell and empty purse— Gone, all gone with the Barbary Coast! Portsmouth Square, crossed the cob- ble-stones of Washington Street, and entered that little alley which clings so tena- ciously to the lower fringe of Chinatown. He walked hastily—for Brann, you must know, was to keep a rendezvous of eight years’ standing. Weird pagan sounds came to him as he passed into the narrow alley. The shrill cry of a flute, the hollow tattoo of the mook yu, the barbarous rhythm of cowhide drums —played behind a lantern-hung balccny op- Bren McDONALD strode through posite one corner of the square—dinned in Brann’s ears. Higher and shriller wailed the flute, while the cries of the singsong girls followed in wild accompaniment. “Shanghai,” muttered Brann, ‘ Here f comes back after all these years, and damned if the Chinee boys ain’t making theirselves to home in my. own Christian port!” He shook his head up at the balcony and pushed deeper into the shadows of the alley. His destination was the house of Mme. Emberton—the place with the glazed white bricks, and the iron scroll work over the windows, and the queer opaque color pattern covering the door glass. There, he could see it now! Narrow and just the least bit gray, it was still standing among its fellows in the middle of the block. Time, apparently, hadn’t changed it much since Brann last entered there eight years before. 148 CORICLOO© (F@