The Argosy, March 1907 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

7 | THE GREEN PARROT. __ 68: executed, for it would mean that through you an innocent man came to his end— and the son of your best friend at that! ”’ sé tp) “Come, Phil! It isn’t so much to ask, after all! Nobody knows you've found me. Just let me walk away from this spot—you leave in ten minutes or so—that’s all there is to it!” “That’s all there is from your stand- point, boy, but from mine és oListen {** Radford clutched his arm with an iron grip. “Phil, if you’ill let me go, I’ll take a week—just one little week.. If I haven’t found my man and brought him back in that time [’ll turn around and return to Bondville of my own accord!” “There’s others after you since I started, Bert. Ferns got excited and turned two or three professionals out on your trail. I haven’t seen them or ‘talked with ’em, but they’re hereabouts and - : , “All right. So be it. It won’t be your fault if I’m taken, then, and you’ve never tried establishing a record as a detective. There'll be nothing for you to feel bad- about. I'll take my chance. Let me go, Sherwood!” . “It’s—no use,” the sheriff muttered sadly. “But it is—it must be—you’re bound » to do it!” Radford cried. “ You must give me that one loophole to save my own life!” “And if you did find the man—what then?” “ Leave that to me. Just give me the last opportunity to get him!” The sheriff’s head bent low. He was evidently thinking hard—and Radford trembled for the result. For a long time Sherwood remained silent. A train from somewhere rumbled in—stopped for a little—rumbled on again, with a‘ prodigious puffing and clatter. The noise brought Sherwood’s head up again. “pert!” = YOST vente | “It’s no good, boy; I can’t do it! | can’t do it, nohow!” (To be continued.) THE GREEN PARROT. BY C. LANGTON CLARKE, Author of “An Expensive Boarder,” “Cousin Almira’s Baby,” “A Domestic Treasure,” ete. In which Mrs. Scales makes a purchase and Mr. Scales loses his temper. RS. GEORGE SCALES, flushed, disheveled, ‘ and tired, leaned against a small table in a corner of the large disordered drawing-room and glared angrily at the motley crowd which surged around the perspiring auctioneer. She had seen a Yaprak rug, an imita- ‘tion Chippendale cabinet, and a Dresden dinner-set soar to prices far beyond the limits of her purse, and her woman’s soul revolted at the absurd sums paid for them. She had come to the sale with the fixed purpose .of buying these articles, but had failed to reckon on a certain sentimental element which had enhanced values. A family socially prominent and reputed wealthy had come to an inglorious smash as a result ‘of business transactions which had landed its head in jail, and in the prevailing desire to. own something which had belonged to them the original cost of things seemed to have been totally forgotten.- The auctioneer was expatiating on the beauties of a chromoesque painting by an obscure artist, and as the bids rose by ten and twenty dollars at a bound Mrs. Scales, with a muttered exclama- tion of disgust, forced her way to the door. She replied tartly to the hasty apolo- gies of a fat man who, in the excite- ment of bidding, had thrust his elbow into her ribs, and having strangled the offer of an elderly female competitor by deliberately planting a small Frerich heel Eomichbooks:. cor