Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 124: what you’re looking at

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

414 agreed that there was danger ahead. They® done. discussed their pros and cons more guard- edly. The next day was just the same. Only more tense. If anything, Mort was more grim, blacker of brow. His silence was positively menacing. Young Payne looked worried. He was short-handed, and Mort’s was an important post, not easy to fill. Heads shook portentously. The third day. No one could mistake Mort’s condition now. He was obviously intoxicated at his still! Mouths gaped. It was just a question of time, now, before young Payne’s wrath would fall. Then, at ten o’clock, while they were all trembling over what young Payne would do, the door opened quietly and the city fellow stepped in. He wore his old insolent grin, and proceeded to unroll his overalls. He had come back to work!” But, somehow, the moment passed, as moments do. Mort turned a sickly green, but did not move from his still. More tenseness. Canfield swaggered up to Wimple for or- ders. Wimple hesitated. He knew how badly young Payne needed men. They were behind on their orders. He set Can- field to work. And again the day went on. But there was very little talk now. They did not dare talk! God! Canfield back, and Mort drunk at his still! The directness of the prospect plumbed their imagination. To tell the truth, no one was more sur- prised at Mort Greeves’ quietude than Mort himself. He was not too drunk to wonder why he did not kill Canfield at once, and done with it. It would be so easy to make away with the puppy! Three running steps, and he could fling himself at Can- field’s throat! With the clear part of his brain he measured out the distance many times that day. Canfield was puny. He was a giant. It would be so easy! Too easy, in fact. Maybe that was the reason he desisted. But there was really another reason. Although drunk, Mort was already the victim of remorse. He knew, in his addled mind, that he had been a brute to Linda. He knew he had driven her to what she had THE ARGOSY. And he realized now, when it was too late, how much he cared for her. Why, her little finger was dearer to him than all the world besides. Therefore—it was fool’s reasoning, of course, but how else can man reason with his veins full of cheap whisky? ‘Therefore, he would begin his atonement by not thwarting her now. If she wanted Canfield, she should have him! ‘““T ain’t a goin’ to start nothin’,” he re- solved doggedly. “I been mean enough to her a’ready.”’ That night he drank again, deeply, seeking relief from memory. But relief did not come. He kept thinking of how he had tracked mud through their pretty cot- tage, and had gone to bed with muddy boots on; of the mean things he had said; of how, once, he had struck her, and left a blue mark. on her round, white arm. God! Couldn’t a man drink enough to for- get those things? It seemed not! And all the time he never swerved from his strange resolve not to lay a finger on Canfield. The fourth day. The city fellow began to whistle at his work. He even spoke— cautiously, it is true—of his “ girl.” He intimated that life was rosy for her now. No one replied. That afternoon young Payne discharged Mort. ‘“ You know I don’t employ drink- ing men, Greeves,” he said coldly. ‘I’ve stood this longer than I should. Get your time at the office.” Mort nodded dully, and shut off the still. “You heard me?” snapped Payne. “T’m goin’,” muttered Mort. But he did not go. Young Payne’s at- tention was called away, and Mort still put- tered around his still. Although he could not read the gage correctly now, he hated to leave it. An hour before closing time Wimple told Canfield to clean out a drum, in prepara- tion for the morrow. The drum had re- cently held a chemical which gave off an explosive gas. It was very hard to make out through the bunghole whether it was thoroughly clean or not. Canfield drew a match from his pocket. Old Caspar saw the act. Stop, you fool!” he shouted. Wimple did his duty. He made a dash COMIGHOO S C@©