Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 312: what you’re looking at

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

THE AMERICAN SYNDICATE. “Then you will receive a friend whom I will send to you?” asked \ 1c- tor, quickly. “The sooner you send him the bet- ter I shall be pleased,” was Joes answer. “T had not thought to find you so valiant, senor,’ sneered \ ictor. Joe shut his jaws together, and made no retort to this parting insult, and as impressively as he had stalked into the cafe, Victor stalked out of it. CHAPTER XIV. RIVALS. ABOUT this time two men, each car- rying a traveling bag, were walking slowly along the Calle Real. They were about as dissimilar in appearance as two men well could be who evident- ly were traveling companions. Save that each carried a bag, and an unmistakable atmosphere of strange- ness to his surroundings, they had nothing apparently in common. One was tall and spare; the other short and portly. The complexion of the first was dark. He wore eyeglasses, and his upper lip was fierce with a stiff mus- tache. The second cultivated no beard on his round face, and ‘his blue eyes, sharp and observant, ‘were unprotected and unaided by glasses. The first marched along with a set, statuesque expression that it seemed would yield to no stress of physical fatigue, or emotional emergency. A portly man’s face is ordinarily expres- sive of placid good nature, and so in repose the countenance of the second might have appeared. At present, perspiring with the heat and the strain of his burden, his brows were wrinkled into an expression of discontent. It was as plain as could be that these two men had no very definite idea of where they were going. Everybody has seen their like in a city street, and 393 everybody jumps at the conclusion, properly enough, that they are new ar- rivals on the lookout for an attractive hotel. “.By thunder!” exclaimed the port- ly man, who was slightly in advance of his companion, “ there ain’t any mis- taking what this town needs most.” ‘Yes, Haskell,” responded the other, with a guttural accent, “ there's no doubt that the first thing we'd bet- ter do for the good of these people and ourselves, is to teach them the benefits of a well organized street car system.” Haskell, too much occupied with his burden to waste breath in talking, nodded his assent and they trudged on. A moment later Haskell set his grip on the sidewalk and stared at a build- ing opposite. His companion, with immobile face, turned about and stared too, but he did not at first set down his grip. “Great Scott, Van Dorn, what do you think of that? ” exclaimed Haskell. “ Tausend Teufels! ” responded Van Dorn, stirred from his iron repose to such an extent that disagreeable sur- prise vibrated in his tone. Then he set his bag upon the walk and tugged fiercely at the ends of his mustache. “ The American Syndicate,” repeat- ed Haskell, slowly reading Joe’s im- pressive signboard. “‘ New York and Porto Rico.’ Humph.” “ Joseph A. Barber, Manager,” went on Van Dorn, concluding the reading. “Who the devil is he, Haskell? ”’ “What in thunderation is he here for? 1s more to the point,” snapped Haskell, by way of reply. ‘T shouldn’t think a Yankee would find difficulty in guessing that,’ re- torted Van Dorn. “T have guessed it,” said Haskell, hopelessly ; “ darn the luck. I was sure we would be first in the field.” “Perhaps,” said Van Dorn, “the concern has been here a long time.” ‘“ Stuff! Look at the freshness of that signboard.” CoOMNnnico@oo|ks CO