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38 ABBOTT'S MONTHLY might even go further and attempt to leave him holding the bag. "When in Rome," he thought-. "What about it?" rasped Peaked Cap. "O. K. chief." Dress Suit began to rub his well manicured fingers up and down his trousers' leg until he felt they were sensitive enough. He motioned Peaked Cap to one side and crouched before the square of steel. With his ear pressed to the cold door he began to turn the dial slowly this way and that. "Any luck?" queried Peaked Cap. "It's a cinch," said Dress Suit. "Wonder if there's anything in it?" "Plenty," grinned Peaked Cap. "The boss made a big collection, but too late for the bank, and it's all right in this baby." Dress Suit worked on in silence. Peaked Cap was evidently impressed with his dexterity. "You know," he said, "me and you oughta work together. Say, we'd be jam-up-me gittin' the lays and you openin'." DRESS SUIT gave a sigh of relief, swung the door open and stepped back. Peaked Cap, like a greedy pig, was in up to his shoulder in the fraction of a second. Presently his hand came out with a thick heavy envelope, and, under the flashlight, a lifting of the flap revealed a sizable bundle of golden yellow boys. Peaked Cap laid the flashlight on a near-by table, grasped his gat in his right hand and with his left pocketed the envelope. "What about the split?" demanded Dress Suit. "Don't be a sap," snarled Peaked Cap. "This roll'll be split one way-my way. You can do all the time." "What do you mean, I can do all the time?" "Just this." Peaked Cap picked up the telephone and rasped, "Main 1313-Hello-Police?-There's a burglar in the house at 2431 Cloyd street-hurry and you'll git him." "Dress Suit noted the glint of a gun in a half-opened drawer of the table on which the flashlight lay. Close at hand was a heavy book-end. "So that's the kind of rat you are?" he said. "Yeah," drawled Peaked Cap nodding slowly. WITH a quick movement Dress Suit brushed the flashlight from the table, seized the book-end and hurled it at Peaked Cap. He heard Peaked Cap's gun hit the floor. His hand closed about the gun in the drawer. "Just one move out of you and I'll drill you," he said. He backed to the wall and switched on the lights. Peaked Cap was rubbing the bruise on his cheek; his gun lay ten feet away. "Lissen, pal-" he began. "Get up!" commanded Dress Suit. "Lissen, pal," said Peaked Cap, obeying, "we gotta beat it. The bulls'll be here any minute." "Oh, yeah?" taunted Dress Suit. "Yeah!" flared Peaked Cap. "If they git me, they'll git you." Dress suit smiled. "Come on, for Gawd's sake," begged the desperate thug, "let's beat it." "Why should I? asked Dress Suit. "I came in through the window because I forgot my key. I LIVE HERE." A PAL BY LUCIEN THOMAS When you're lonesome and blue And down-hearted too, Loaded with care, On the brink of despair, What you need is a friend, Who is loyal and true, A Pal, who has had His own trials too. One who has been Just as lonesome and blue, Who didn't give up But fought manfully on, 'Til all of his troubles Had vanished and gone. And now, when you need him, He's there with a smile, To tell you there's something In life that's worth while, And take hold your hand And help you pull through; Such is a friend Who is loyal and true. -He Made Millions Laugh -He Was the Master of Comedy -He Was the Greatest Comedian of His Time READ The Story of BERT WILLIAMS In the FEBRUARY ISSUE OF ABBOTT'S MONTHLY [[image: pencil sketch]] [[caption]] As he crossed the sill he called to her, "Peacie," but there was no answer. [[/caption]] The NEEDLE'S POINT By J. SAUNDERS REDDING Illustrated by Edgar Riley Her Name Was Peacie, But She Knew No Peace, Either of Body or of Mind. Released from a Sanitarium as Cured, She Made a Valiant Struggle-But Then- All day a slow, hot wind had been seeping up from the river, filling the air with the heavy odor of ripe tomatoes, peaches, melons, loaded on the sagging barges floating up the river to Chester. But now the wind had stopped, the air was breathless, thick with the flat smell of mud and dead fish, and as evening came on the clouds that all day had given promise of rain receded and left the sky a deep flame-blue. In front of the gray shacks along the river the mud of the road was baked and serrated: in the ruts there were dust-heaps ankle deep. Three children, black, brown, yellow, played in the tall reed grass along the shore, unmindful of the mosquitoes that, even before the sun set, were beginning to buzz and sing. The road, ending abruptly in a dismantled warehouse, was patched with ashes and cracked oyster shells. "Hey'o, Miss Vigil," one of the children screamed. In the door of the last shack Vigil Clark stood watching the houses up the road. Her bulk filled the doorway. 39
