The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

148 “The papers—the daily news- papers!” Smith cried. “ Perhaps this is how the customers who’ve turned you down were influenced against you; somebody who bears a resemblance to you may have done something dread- ful—might be an escaped murderer— and his story and picture could have been printed. There might have been a theory that this outlaw had taken a job in a shoe-store. who has seen you has been afraid to let you come near them.” He slapped his thigh. “By jinks,” he chortled, “ I’ll bet that’s it!” Barlow scowled at him. “Don’t be an ass!” he said bitterly. “What do you think this is, some kind of thing from a story-book? Your dope about escaped murderers with their pictures in the papers bearing a likeness to me is all rot. In the first place, don’t you suppose if anything of the sort had been printed, it would have been slathered through the news mighty thick? And, if there was much of such a yarn printed, wouldn’t you have heard of it before now—and wouldn’t [?” He gave an exclamation of im- patience. | “T tell you, Smith,” he said, ‘“ you can’t figure this business out along any such lines. And, by George, I don’t know how you can go about solving it. It’s a brain-twister for fair!” The other slowly nodded. “There isn’t anything wrong with your looks,’ he mused, “and you haven’t done anything to any of these customers, because you never met them till they were on their first visit to the store.” He folded over two fingers of his right hand. “Next, there’s none of them could be prejudiced against you beforehand by any cock-and-bull story. They couldn’t be approached with any dam- aging report of you until they got into the store. And you've gone right up to them all as soon as they got through And everybody . THE ARGOSY. the door, so you’d have seen anybody whispering to them.” He pulled down another finger. “Yet—despite all that—not one of them will let you wait on them as soon as they get one sight of you!” A light dawned on Smith’s face. “So,” he said with a quaver of pleasurable excitement rippling through his tone—“ so this is what you call a real, live mystery. And it’s happening in every-day life, mind you, Barlow!” The latter groaned. “Don’t you suppose I know it?” he said. ‘ You can enjoy the thrill of it if you like, Smith. But J can’t see where the situation is the least roman- tic or appealing. Mysteries are: all right when you hear about ’em, read about ’em. But this one is happening to me!” He took his head in his hands. “And the only outcome to it I can see is that I’m going to lose my job to-morrow night! ”’ IT. SATURDAY morning found the Bon Ton Shoe Store ready for the biggest day’s business of the week. The clerks were bustling about, laying out the stock, scurrying here and there, and over the scene an air of prophetic activity vibrated. Barlow, looking on in sulking idle- ness from his accustomed hangout, nowadays, in the rear of the place, took in the details of his surroundings with the half-conscious realization that he wasn’t going to see the same fittings, companions and familiar landmarks ever again—that feeling which every one who has ever moved his home or been discharged will remember. This was going to be Barlow’s last day there. He had gone around to all the other clerks and found out the number of sales each had made so far this week. He discovered, as a result of the can- vass, that he would have to make at least twenty customers purchase goods CoOMmicbook CO