Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

248 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. chauffeur person yawned and even again in- quired: ‘“‘ Where’s them sandwiches?” “Out in the kitchen in a paper bag. Wait a while, Joe; you ain’t starving. I want to—”’ Miss Carson, gloved fist doubled, pound- ed hard and repeatedly upon the door. Beyond, the sentence broke in two and there was a momentary scuffing of feet. She could all but feel six eyes turned in her direction! ‘Hey, that’s too much noise!” the chauf- feur remarked in an undertone. ‘“ We don’t want no riot here.” “Oh, let her alone!” the dark one ad- vised with a chuckle. “ She’s just getting some of it out of her system. She'll lay off that stuff in a minute if we don’t pay any attention.” “Well, I better go see what she—” Nick began. “You sit down there or I’ll knock your damned block off!” the head of the com- pany advised him. After this there was expectant silence. They were apparently listening for the next manifestation, or possibly they were assum- ing that there would be none. If so, Miss Carson mused, they could not have been more utterly wrong. But her small fist was inadequate and unconvincing; she looked around for something more sub- stantial. In the class of hard, portable ob- jects there was only the shaky wooden chair. She stepped lightly over to it and lifted it. It was of just the nicest weight and balance for throwing! Some ten feet from the door Myra took careful aim and swung her chair and—threw it! And there was a splintering crash that suggested a maddened whippet-tank passing through the side wall of the shack. Legs, rungs and a ruined back sprayed out like fireworks, clattered gayly to the floor and rolled around. The heavy wooden seat, de- laying its descent for the well-judged frac- tion of one second, landed with a loud and highly individual thud. Then, for a little, a tomblike hush brood- ed over the establishment, while Miss Car- son considered the cot, That article, with apparently removable side rails of heavy won, would come next. CHAPTER VI. THE INTRACTABLE ONE. N the far room, feet scuffed again sud- | denly, suggesting three gentlemen in the act of rising. ‘“‘ What the—” Nick began. ‘“* What ’d she do that time?” the chauf- feur choked blankly. “She must ’a’ kicked out the wall, from the sound of it!” the dark one snapped. “What can be wrong with that doll, any- way?” ““Open this door!” screamed Miss Car- son. ‘Hey! One more like that an’ some watchman over on Long Island ’ll hear her an’ telephone the police!” cried the footman nervously. ‘‘ Lemme go in and—” “Pll go myself!” said the dark one. “‘ Now, listen!” the chauffeur cried husk- ily. “ Let me do this. This jane’s gotter get quieted and I’m the boy that can do it!” ‘Only remember—”’ “¢ Sure, I understand—I understand! I—” “ Open — this — door!’ Myra shrilled again, much more violently. Heavy steps thumped promptly toward her. They stopped just beyond the portal. “ Hey, cut that out! What’s the idea o’ that noise?” thundered the chauffeur, his tone greatly like that of an annoyed bull. “You open this door or I'll break it down!” the girl shrieked. “Open it! Open it, y’ bonehead! She might hurt herself!” escaped the dark man in @ feverish hiss. “If she don’t hurt herself I'll hurt her good and proper!” roared the great brute as he turned the key and threw open the door. ‘There! Yer door’s open! Wotter y’ think it’s going to get you?” he demanded directly of Myra’s face. Logically, the young woman should have shrunk away from him; she failed to shrink; and noting this with visible astonishment the chauffeur stared for an instant and then grew much more brutal. comiclboooks C©