The Argosy for May — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE ARGOSY Vol. LX MAY, 1909. No. 2 THE TIME FOR ACTION. By CASPER CARSON, Author of “In the Lap of Luxury,” “ When Reuben Came to Town,” etc. What happened to call a halt in the career of a spendthrift who was worthy of better things. (COMPLETE CHAPTER I. THE CIPHER TELEGRAM. S pi Penny, Pugilist, Poke.” The station-agent at Shunton Hills, who was also telegraph operator, baggage-master, and general factotum, finished the transcription of the mes- sage, added the signature, and craned his neck out of the window. isen ‘Hey, Harry,’ he catted to his son and assistant, who was battling with a pile of trunks down at the far end of the platform, “ where’s Tad?”’ “Gone sWimming, I guess. Why?” ‘Oh, there’s a sort of gibberish mes- sage here for Daniel G. Ramsey. Who's he, I wonder?” “Ramsey? Why, that must be the fellow who came in on the accommo- dation this afternoon with his family and all this baggage. They’ve taken the old Sampson place for the summer, and Billy Sampson told me he was a big New York banker. What’s the message about?” leaving his task and coming forward. ‘You can see for yourself.” He held out the yellow sheet with a grin. “It’s all right, though; I repeated it, and got back an O.K. from the other end.” Harry glanced at the cryptic words curiously. ‘‘ Why, that’s in cipher,” he exclaimed, ‘‘ and maybe about something mighty important. It ought to be de- livered at once, dad.” ‘“ Maybe so; but how is it going to IA 4 IN THIS ISSUE.) Drat that never around when’ he is be done, with Tad gone? boy; he’s wanted.” Harry hesitated a moment. “Here,” he cried, “let me have it. I can jump on my wheel, and ride over to Sampson’s and back in Jess than no time. Besides, | am very strongly of the opinion that Ramsey would rather wait for his trunks than for this.” As~he spoke, he snatched the flutter- ing telegram from his father’s hand, crammed it into an envelope, and, leap- ing on a bicycle which stood against the end of the station, was pedaling away, a moment later, down the dusty country road. The station-agent, shaking his head as though deprecating the waste of so much energy upon a mere supposition, returned slowly to his cushioned chair and resumed the nap interrupted by the clicking of his instrument. He was not an imaginative nor an energetic man himself, this Benjamin Rock. Perhaps, if he had been en- dowed with so much of either quality as was possessed by his son Harry, he would: not have been content to round out his days as agent at the little in- significant mountain station of Shunton ‘Hills. It was not entirely excess of vim, however, which had rendered young Rock so ready to undertake extra duty, nor, for that matter, the possible impor- tance of the message, either. 193 = COMMICOOOLK (E@ im ’