The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

FLIRTING WITH DESPERATE HAZARD. tempt, this newspaper printed, in a con- spicuous box in the center of the first page, a list beforehand of all the spe- ciously plausible yarns that might be given by the man to account for his shackled appearance. _ Let no locksmith believe that during the performance of a “ handcuff king ”’ at one of the local theaters, a man out of the audience had gone up on the stage and allowed a pair of gyves to be locked on him—fire, or something of the kind, then breaking out, and caus- ing him to run from the stage to the street in his semi-helpless condition. Nothing of the sort -had happened at any matinée in town. Nor was it to be credited that two friends, in fun, had tried an experi- ment with a pair of handcuffs, one lock- ing them on the other to prove a point at argument, and then neither being able to open the things again. That would be a lie the locksmith should de- tect at once, from his own knowledge that handcuffs are very carefully sold, and not at all likely to get into the pos- session of ordinary citizens. “ Say, d’ye think Pm Andy Carne- The voice of the newsboy roused Lewis at that moment. He lowered the paper a trifle, and stared over it at the youth. With an expression of gath- ering disgust on his face, the latter was regarding the reporter. “Think I’m givin’ away free li- b’ries?’”’ he demanded. “If you're all done readin’ the news-section of that paper, take a crack at the want ads. and magazine page, why don’t you? Gee, don’t mind me. I can wait here all night. Only thing is, when you get through readin’ that sheet, give it back tome. I might be able to sell it to some- body else!” Had the boy seen the handcuffs on his wrists? Swiftly Lewis looked down. No, the spread-out paper in his hands hid everything between their grasp on the edges of the extra. His meeting with the lad had been so abrupt, and after it the reporter had 1389 snatched the paper which hid his mana- cles so immediately, that the boy could scarcely have had time to spy the brace- lets before they were concealed from his view. But—here was a painful situation. Now he would have to drop the paper, the one thing that prevented the youth before him from discovering the fact that he was face to face with the iden- tical culprit whose escape the extras under his arm was advertising. That shield would have to be lowered, either to reach for a nickel in his pocket with his cramped hands, which could not fail to reveal at least some part of his shackles, or, unable to pay for it, he must give the paper back, disclosing the truth of his plight entirely. Lewis was surely on the horns of a dilemma. No matter what move he made, he would be equally bad off. This was tough. Pretty tough — just when he was within an ace of getting away, to be held in the toils of such an annoying predicament. To be sure, he had only a boy to deal with. If the lad became aware of the reporter’s identity, and was fired by the ambition to earn the reward that was offered in the papers he was selling for the capture of the runaway prisoner, he would be physically unable to hold him should Lewis try to bolt. Nothing was to be feared from his hands. But — there was his tongue. If the reporter broke and ran, drop- ping the paper or making off with it, still concealing the fact that his wrists were bound, the youth would be certain to set up a cry, denouncing him either as the murderer at large or a thief. His vocal chords having been amply exer- cised in the pursuit of his vocation, there was extremely little doubt but what that cry would be a lusty one. And so a crowd would be drawn. Lewis would surely be run down, sur- rounded, and then shown up in his manacles. “Come on!” repeated the newsboy. “Give us back that paper if you ain’t goin’ to buy it. Hurry up!” oO CoOMmicbook CO