Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

” nopolized ct iad cort of women. Now, for the frst time, young Van Wert saw Lolita and other sort together. ie eae had the same idea. From the orchestra stand, where I whanged the tri- angle and other utensils of my profession, I could see that party of four. And Lolita, with all her pep, personality, and passion- ate clothes, was merely a good second. Not an easy first, but a good second. “ But we never want what we can get. Montana gave his entire attention to Maida, but that penniless little chorine gave him— nothing! She shed sweet smiles at Chet \'an Wert, and he looked more than mildly interested, but not much more. He was still somewhat under Lolita’s charm. And, considering the length of time she had held him hog-tied, and the stunts she’d pulled in the meanwhile, he would be backing her in more shows. “ Lolita, of course, was after new game, new wealthy game. Adams of the bulldog face was being tracked down. Nobody else in that restaurant saw what was going on. They just looked like a party of four, mixed like most parties of four are, having supper together. “T would have missed the rest of this except for Alexandre, the head waiter there. ‘Mr. Adams, at that table,’ he says to me, leaving off the French accent because I knew him when he was Alex, son of the town druggist, ‘wants a case taken up to his apartment. Want to make ten on the side, Eddie?’ * I nodded, glad of the chance. It meant chaperoning a case of regular stuff in a taxi somewhere, me taking all chances of getting pinched and so on. That’s where those rich guys have it all over the poor—”’ “ Omit the sociology, Eddie,” I entreated. ‘T can hear that sort of a speil on the street corner any night.” “ Well, I said all right. About three or four, or some time, when the place began to get rough, Lolita and her gang blew. They all seemed to be O. K., though not pleased. Isn't it funny how booze makes you feel worse if you feel bad. and better if you feel good? _ St grabbed one end of a case of Haig Chet, or taken care that | aiite and bot machine tried to so he could hold me t a gat in his spine bet from sixty an hour. Bu F ey) ment at last, and just 1 chills at once. | “ ¢ Where’ll you have the s' says I, pleasantly, dragging in the ¢ “ Chet was glued and mussy. He ed to fight somebody. It was a peach apartment, and there was but one peach 1n the room. That was Maida, and it looked odd that she’d stuck with that crowd 50 long. 4 “In about ten minutes Chet would be wrestling with the furniture, if he couldn’t get a scrap from any one. Lolita, looking 7 like she’s look in ten years, was standing next to Montana. He was giving her a sour glare. There was @ mean curl to Adams’s mouth that I didn’t like. “ Nobody answered; so I tried again. ‘ Where’s the cellar in this place? Or shall I leave it here?’ “©T was promised ten,’ says I, ‘ and taxi fare. That makes it twelve fifty.’ “<< Borrow your gun, Adams,” said Chet, picking up a black automatic from the table. ‘Think I’ll make this bootlegger sing a song.’ Then he turns to me: ‘ Sing “ Sweet Adeline,” ’ says he, weaving over closer. ‘“‘T stood there like a dumb fool. ‘I can't turn a tune,’ says I. ‘Sorry. Twelve fifty, gents, and I'll wander.’ “ <Tiar!’ said Chet, and slaps me with his open hand. ‘Sing.’ And he lifts his hand again. ‘T don’t mind telling you that made me mad. Before I had decided that Chet should have one on the point of the jaw— job or no job—Maida butted in. She caught — Chet’s hand and turned him around. é ‘“« Don’t be silly,’ says she. ‘Let the _ “ That was when Chet was silly. I heard a funny kind of gasp from him. He pointing like a hunting dog. There a the room from him, in a regular r picture clutch, was Lolita and Ac ams Montana. ; “T don't know what most pe €omicbooks.com