Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

1836 you hand me—say, what did you hand me?” ‘* The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but, so help me!” said the Parson, and laid his finger-tips together with solemn pre- cision and stared at Bowker with innocent eyes. ‘“ That paymaster had been tipped off, and the bag was empty. That is, it was filled with worthless paper. That was one job, Jerry, that never troubled my con- science, for the money came from a merci- less rascal who had ground his gold out of the blood and sweat of poor working- ‘men. He didn’t get it honestly, and the idea of taking it from him filled me with elation. It wasn’t a crime to steal from him.”’ “Rats!” There was a line of sullen craft between Bowker’s brows, a sneer at the end of his lips. ‘‘ That little affair, Parson, had an odor like eggs in the last stage of decomposition. I can smell it yet, and I'll never get done thinking you pulled one over on us. Otherwise, why were you so careful to avoid me thereafter?” ‘I was arrested at Reading, and did a few for helping a gopher, but I have turned straight; I’m a leveler, Jerry, from now till the last toot.” ‘* Keep that for the bulls, Parson. And let me tell you this: If you want to keep me off you, pick up with me on this Millville trick. It only needs a penman and a saint like you. I couldn’t pull it in a thousand years because it ain’t in my line. A sky pilot is wanted, and it’s your role.” The Parson evinced an unspoken desire to go, but Bowker stopped him with: ‘ Sit down till I tell you the story of the Widow Stockdale.” The Parson smiled a sickly smile, re- sumed his seat, and crossed his legs with a puzzled frown. “It’s the easiest thing you’d want to bump up against,” continued Bowker, his glance as sweet as honey. ‘“ The Widow Stockdale has twenty-four thousand dollars to her credit at the First National Bank of Millville. Every year she drives up in her carriage, asks to see the president, looks at her bank-book, and then draws a check for the full amount. While the president entertains her in his office the cashier col- THE ARGOSY. lects notes to that amount and lugs them in for the old lady’s inspection. She care- fully counts ‘the bundle, hands it back, and goes away, fully satisfied that her money is safe. Do you want anything better than that, Parson?”’ : The Parson rose, and spreading his shoulders with a deep breath, stood for a moment with one hand in his pocket, the other absently fingering a vest button. “I could get that money without any trouble, Jerry,” he said evenly, ‘“ but I told them at the big house that I was going straight, and I mean it. I’m sorry to disap- point you, but this is final.” ‘You big stiff, you’re gettin’ yellow!” “Maybe. I’ll take my keisters and go.” The Parson opened the door, took up the two suit-cases, and stepped across the thres- hold, where he paused to nod his farewell. Bowker inspected him through partly closed eyes. Then, in a dead silence, he crossed the room and faced him. ‘““T’ve got your number, bud!”’ he hissed. “Tl get you some time—don’t ever think you can fool Jerry Bowker twice!” Next afternoon, just after returning from lunch, Millville’s chief of police, Mont- gomery Trickel, found Jerry Bowker await- ing him with easy impatience. ‘* Chief,” he said, tendering a card, ‘“ I’m Peter Blum—with Blum & Bronstein, neckwear and notions, and last night I had a curious experience. If you have time, I'd like to relate it to you.” Chief Trickel regarded him with pleasant vacuity. ‘ Be brief,” he lied briskly, ‘‘ for we’re rather rushed to-day.” Whereupon Jerry Bowker, alias Peter Blum, rushed on with a most amazing story. About to leave town the night be- fore, he had fallen in with a ministerial person who had persuaded him to have a game of cards in his room at the hotel. During the course of the game, which cost _him four hundred dollars at its conclusion, he had inadvertently told the tale of the Widow Stockdale as he had heard it from the lips of President Whitcomb himself at the Millville First National. From minute inquiries made by this clerical-looking card-sharp anent the life COMICLO© S C@