Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

ef “ And now that ask the wild man little box of “Sure,” said Connors. we all got seats we will from Borneo to bring out his tricks so the show can start. What you got up your sleeve?” E “ Where is Captain Jake?” asked the leader, leaning across the table. “1 don’t know,” was Connors’s curt re- ply. . . The big ruffian riveted his gaze on Con- nors as if he would draw the truth from him at all hazards, and his rage was fanned by the evasive answer. You lie!”’ he shouted. Connors was a prizefighter, and these few words had always formed the verbal prelude that led to trouble. In an instant he had found his feet—-and just as quickly changed his mind and sunk back into his chair. There was nothing charitable about this change of heart. It had been prompted by the persuasive powers of three wicked- looking guns that had suddenly appeared on the table. The big sailor had not moved, or shown any excitement. On the contrary, he had tilted his chair back and was smiling. It was a brutal sort of grin, and at the moment Connors was fascinated by its glint of clev- erness. Throughout the evening, problems had been assailing Connors with great rapid- ity and he therefore found it comparatively easy to entertain another one. Who was this big brute of a sailor? Had he been a member of Captain Jake’s crew? He glanced at the fellow’s hands and was star- tled to discover they were long and slim. They were deft and flexible, while the hands of his companions were tar-stained at every crack and lin Then again the man’s speech was not that of the Water Street sailor. It was too glib. Too oily, by far. ‘fT hopes you won't leave ’fore the show is over,” the big one continued. ‘“ We all hopes that—don’t we, mates? You sée, I don’t do no tricks. I juggles.” He had brought his chair down again with all four legs resting on the floor, and was leaning back in an easy attitude. At the same time he had drawn a murderous- looking dirk from his belt and was toying with it. " I juggles—I does,” he repeated. handled blade ceilingwe not how high it might soar, Sa oneal followed the turr blade in its flight—saw it str ward. in the ceiling, where it quive ‘nstant —then fell, striking the tabl downward, where it penetrated to the of a full half inch. _ It was the cold, calculating precision OF the thing that made such an impression — upon Connors. a “ Now,” said the big fellow, “Tasks you — again—where is this here Captain Jake?” Connors, who had been weighing every word and act, caught the false ring of the words “ this here.” Had this juggling sailor been a member of Jake’s crew he would have asked: “ Where is Captain Jake?” ‘Looka here, gents,’ began Connors, wishing to evade the issue, ‘‘ you’re off your course. I ain’t no human, lighthouse. What’s the idea, anyway, coming to me?” ‘Easy answered,” replied the big chap. “We comes because you is the monkey that’s going to thrown down the coconut. You climbs the tree. Jake came to New York because he knew that you were crooked enough to help him put his deal over—that was what he told us—not so, lads?” The three sailors nodded their confirma- tion. ‘“The minute he gets here he tries to throw us down, so we comes to you. He’s @ nice one, he is, to go and hide on his pals, but we knows who’s going to smoke him out. Yes, sir!” A brilliant idea came to Connors. He would tell them the truth, so far as he knew it. His faith in Jake and his wild scheme was on the wane. The secret he was carry- ing had become burdensome. It was deep stuff. “At best, he could not grasp it. Be- tween the revelations made in part by Jake, the insinuations of Emile, the demands of the sailors, and Captain Wallers’s threat to give the Cracker Pot the regulation acid test, he was sick of it all. As it stood, they all seemed to have more information than _ he did. All he knew was that Jake had comicbooks.com ate