The Argosy for May — page 100: what you’re looking at

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

WHEN THE CLOCK STOPS. - business, and one in which, palpably, he must fight or be thrashed—and _per- haps killed. He caught himself-in a wild desire to scream for help, and put all his mind to fighting the unseen thing that was straining at him. Silently, pantingly, they gripped hard. The other’s fingers slipped, and came again to Hoftman’s neck. He caught at the wrists, and secured them with’ wonderful alertness. He forced them down and back; he managed even, by releasing the one, to turn the other very suddenly behind his demented antago- nist’s back. : He shut his teeth, and thrust out a leg—and the invisible fighter was down upon his face for the moment, and struggling like a wild man. He was rising, too, despite the well-held “ ham- merlock ”’; in just a minute, if he main- tained his strength, he was going to be on top of Hoffman, with every prospect of choking him to death. And indeed, what with years ef desk work, Hoffman felt himself giving out rapidly, and—the door crashed: back to the wall, and other steps were racing toward the strugglers! 2&1 ‘There was an instant of furious pant- ing. ‘There was a sudden, tremendous relief, as the form was dragged away from him. ‘There was an abrupt jerk, as Hoffman was yanked bodily to his feet by two pairs of hands and raced forward. And they were apparently out in the z corridor now—and now they were tear- ing along the hall—and now he was hurled headlong upon a bed, and hands were holding him down. He tried to protest. His voice choked for an instant ; and then, before he could speak, the no longer gentle ‘tones of Smith growled breathlessly into his ear: “The next time you try that trick, youll get your skull cracked — hear that?” “Say, for a blind man’s home—” in a roar from Hoffman. This—ain’t any blind man’s home, Bill!” the snarl informed him viciously. “This is Dr. Blatchford’s private asylum for the insane—and, if you ain’t less buggy hereafter, you'll get a jab of morphine that’ll make you think you’ve dropped into the Atlantic! Lie down 9) there! came (To be continued.) WHEN THE CLOCK STOPS. By HOWARD DWIGHT SMILEY. How the inventor with a grudge got even with those who had turned the cold shoulder to him. | Perea BROOKS, inventor, stormed furiously around the private office of the president of the Acme Air-Brake Company. “Whose invention put you where you are?”’ he demanded. “Yours,” admitted the president with an air of patient resignation. \ ‘And you’ve made over a million out of it, ain’t you?” es Something around that Hite: I be- lieve,” the president again admitted. “Well, then, it seems mighty curious that you can’t invest five thousand in my top. Why, sir, it is the most remarkable top ever invented. Spins for two hours. Did you ever hear of a top that would spin for two hours? You never did. If I can get that top on the market it will sell like hot cakes. Every man, woman, and child in the world will want one, and they will retail at a dollar each, too. - Seems to me that in view of the fact that I made your old company what it is you might finance this thing for me.” ‘But, Mr. Brooks,” the president gen- tly remonstrated, “‘ we bought your patent outright and paid you cash for it. I can’t see where we are under any obliga- tions to you. Your top may be a good thing, but it doesn’t look practical to me. I don’t believe you can get anybody MICLOOO© C S (C@