The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

ONE CROWDED CHRISTMAS. station-house; but instead of finding one, it fell upon him, so to speak. For as he turned a corner, two or three blocks below, he was suddenly roused from his brown study to be clutched by a couple of wildly gesticulating tailors, and to feel once more the heavy hand of the law on his shoulder. “Robber! Thief!” shrieked the tailors. ‘‘ Give us back our money!” “Come on with me,” said the au- thoritative voice of the law. “ You're wanted for passing phoney thousand- dollar certificates.’’ ‘““Phoney?” gasped Swanson, and almost fainted. The answer to the rid- dle was now only too plain. At the station-house, also, he found other accusers to denounce him—two hotel managers, a haberdasher, a flo- rist, in fact the entire ten. And the worst of it was that he did not have enough left by nearly twelve hundred dollars to make good. | Scant shrift was given him this time, nor was any attention paid to his pleas of innocence. - He was registered, recorded, and just about to be hustled off to the Ber- tillon room for measurement when another detective entered with a fresh prisoner. “ Sligo Jack,” the officer announced with pride to the lieutenant at the desk, “king of queer shovers; but P’ve got him this time on another charge. He’s at the bottom of the McNutt kid- naping, which we’ve just managed to clear up and restore the kid to its mother.” | Swanson, however, did not wait for all this. Breaking loose from his cap- lls tors, he flung himself across the room, and was now shaking his fist vigor- ously under the fellow’s nose. “You villain!” he panted. “ You are responsible for all my trouble.” Sligo Jack turned with a grin to the circle of cops. “ Boys,” he said, “ you’ve got me right, and it’s no use to hold out. Take it from me, though, this kid is on the square. I thought maybe I could pull off a deal through him, and that’s all there is to it. He’s such a mutt, you know, I simply couldn’t help handing it to him.” And that to Swanson was perhaps the bitterest blow of all. Penitently he returned that night to the parental roof, and he ate fatted calf, or rather roast turkey, with a chastened and humiliated spirit. “Dad,” he said, “I guess you’re right. I’m not worth four hundred dollars a year to you; but if you take me back to work at that figure I'll try to earn it.” “No,” said his father. “ I’ve been thinking over this matter, too, and I’ve decided what you need is a wife to take care of you; so I’m going to raise you to two thousand five hundred dollars, and let you marry as soon as you please.” The son was quiet a moment, almost stunned -by this unexpected turn of luck. Then he looked up with a slow smile. “ Dad,” he said, “‘ I’m going to have Robert Anderson McNutt, Jr., for my best man at the wedding. This is all due to him. It sure has been a crowd- ed Christmas.” THE WAY TO THE STARS. I've talked with Wo, and in my deep distress — Have learned from her the way to happiness. With Failure ?ve communed, and in her frewn Have read how those who strive may win the crown; And face to face with Sin, deep in her eyes I’ve glimpsed the hint that leads to paradise! Blakeney Gray. oO CoOMmicbook CO