Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

Ri x o2 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. . boiler man smashed his thumb, and I want some iodine.” I accompanied Gene to his roadster, and when we were safely out of earshot, said: “Youre letting yourself in for a mess of trouble. Those two are bad eggs. One’s either an escaped convict or they’ve just let him out.” Gene nodded. “Yes, I got that, but don’t you see, Buck, I’ve got to make them settle here? Somebody has to watch out for that girl, and I’m going to do it.” “You know what’s likely to happen,” I warned him. ‘If the younger one is what we think he is, his photograph and Bertil- lon measurements are going to come in the mail some day .soon.” “ Let’s not jump that fence,” Gene said grimly, “‘ until we get to it. That girl needs somebody like me around. I can’t look after her, can I, if they slip away to Vero or Kissimmee?” ‘“ After looking over the rest of the fam- ily, you’re still determined to marry her?” I asked. He grinned. “You know me, Buck, when I run into opposition!” It. BREAKFAST with the Pomeroys was an affair of grim and ominous silence. My questions concerning their Connecticut farm were met with long-pondered, unen- lightening answers. , But that breakfast at least provided me with a slightly wider ac- quaintance with the three Pomeroys’ char- acters. The convict ate sparingly, but his table manners were above reproach. Bert, on the other hand, only confirmed my orig- inal impression. He handled his knife and fork as a farm hand does. He devoured his food, drank his coffee—three cups of it —slowly and with relish. He was of the breed that does not talk when it eats. When he had finished he pushed his chair back and lighted a cheap cigarette. He then asked me who Bantry was, and I told him. “Gene came to Vingo shortly after the war and went to work in Lockhart’s quarry as a timekeeper. He’s a hard worker. Saved his money and bought a part inter- est. He will buy Lockhart out eventually. Gene’s going to be one of the big men of Florida some day. He’s a fanatic on good roads. Of course, his quarry is supplying most of the rock for the new State high- way. His two passions are good roads and coquina rock.” ‘““T think he’s a peach,” Suzanne ex- claimed, and promptly subsided, the smile dying on her lips, the light fading from her eyes. The reason: Two pairs of black eyes filled with puzzlement and disapproval lev- eled at her like the muzzles of four pistols. ‘““T wouldn’t trust that fellow any far ther than I could throw a cow by the tail,” Bert Pomeroy announced. That irritated me. “ Why not?” I asked. “T’ve known him for five years. He’s one of the few men who’ve come to Vingo who haven’t stung me with a bad check or run off owing me for rations.” ““He’s too smooth,” Bert said stubborn- ly. “I don’t like his looks.” 1 should have kept my temper, but didn’t. “Do you like anybody’s looks?” I snapped. He only stared at me, not murderously, as I might have expected, but gloomily, darkly, with a sour curiosity. ** Not very many,” he said thoughtfully. “People are out to do you. They’re slick and sly and double-faced; they talk big when they’re with you, then they stab you in the back. Give them a chance, and they'll break you—they’ll break you and stamp on you!” “ But there are exceptions,” I suggested. He shook his black head, snugged down his thick black brows. “T ain’t met any,” he said curtly. I looked at Suzanne, but she was staring out of the window at the purple bougain- villae vine by the side gate. The cool glare of the early morning lighted her profile, which was that of a sober, unhappy girl. I was vaguely sorry for Gene Bantry. When the brothers went upstairs to pack their suit cases, and Suzanne busied herself at the kitchen sink, I slipped into the pan- try, removed the Pomeroy fortune from the flour barrel, and presented it to her. She stuffed the roll absently into the bosom of 2A CORNICLOOOKS (E@ oe 5 fey