Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

SAMARITAN STUFF FOR ’CILLA. 299 chase around with that kinda tramp—” Vic began, but I stopped him. “Why, Vic, the poor kid hasn’t had any experience! She takes fellows on trust, not realizing some birds can’t be trusted. And I’m not to let this bell polisher pull any rough stuff. One worm slicked Gertie Hul, and it don’t happen again to a girl I know. And ’Cilla is far less suspicious than Gertie.” “Tell her what this egg probably is, Jackie.” “How smart that would be! Talk don’t help. It didn’t with Gertie. No, wait un- til he makes a bum move—and then be ready to act. You have Sam Cooley Saturday night or I'll murder you, Vic!” And I might have, too. Only Sam did put in an appearance, and the party went through. It was hardly a bellringer, at that. Sam liked ’Cilla well enough, but I guess she had her fashionable friend Glendon on the brain, and didn’t give poor Sam so much of a tumble. A girl will do her stuff, whether from Naylor, Nebraska, or Gotham, New York. I didn’t despair entirely. Sam Cooley might be awkward and lacking in style; but he was a good fellow at heart. Here’s where he had it all over the peerless scenario writer with a father in Wall Street, I figured, and I believed ’Cilla would have the sense to see it when the time came. At the end of a coupla weeks I began to worry. The Nebraskan had let Sam take her out two or three times to Glendon’s five or six. And it was as sure as Holly- wood has scandals that ’Cilla derived most of her throbs outa the excursions with the alleged scenario carpenter. This was too bad, for Sam seemed to like her, and if it hadin’t been for that sealhead gumming up the game, doubtless they would be get- ting along great together. “Darn!” I told Vic Jordan one evening. “Sometimes I think her name oughta start out spelled with an ‘S’ and ending with a‘y’. She’s ’Cilla indeed.” “ Surely the poor girl don’t deserve a cruel crack like that one,” grinned Vic. “ You know the Samaritan stuff don’t always pan out, Jackie. This Glendon is acting all right, ain’t he? Perhaps he is on the level.” ‘* As level as a ride in a roller coaster at Venice!” I snapped. ‘“‘ He don’t work as fast as most of them, but some of these days he’ll overstep—and then watch him blouse it!” “I’ve only seen him once, but I don’t like his looks much,” Vic admitted. ‘ He may be prettier than Sam, and have a better line, but Sam is a good guy. And it’s a cinch friend ’Cilla is gonna make him sore before long. If you—” **T don’t know what I can do, unless it is to put arsenic in the grapefruit for him some day. ’Cilla never seems to find any fault with him. It’s always something new and: nice he’s done. Lately she’s been tell- ing me what he did at college. What a wonderful athlete he was. Can you imagine that cookie an athlete?” “Yes; Mexican brand,” Vic chuckled. “Tl bet the day he went through college they locked everything up. They must have given him a degree of B. T.—bull thrower.” ‘¢ Just let him give me one opening and Tl crab him!” is my earnest young vow. Opportunity was due to push the buzzer quicker than I really expected, though I did look for a break on Bertrand’s part every minute. A morning or two after my last chat with Vic the Nebraska girl came to work with a faintly anxious expression in her eyes. For the first time she appeared doubtful. I could hardly wait until our lunchtime to give her the third degree. She loosened up pretty promptly. “ Bertrand has gone away for a while,” she confided. ‘‘ Went to San Francisco this morning. Or he told me last night he would. I—I—” She paused. “‘'What’s the matter, honey?” I queried gently. ‘I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Ber- trand seemed to act a bit strange last night. He told me he had a chance to go to San Francisco and write a scenario for a new concern up there, but—but he didn’t have enough money to make the trip, and I—” “You didn’t give him any money?”’ I ex- claimed. ‘* J—I did. I loaned him a hundred dol- lars outa my savings. He refused to take it at first. Finally he did, saying he would comicboooks C©