Evening Star Newspaper, March 13, 1932, Page 80

THE SUNDAY STAR, W. A BOZO OF THE BEACH hen a Man Has Real Friends the - orld Is Good A First-Run Story by Scott Bailey ILL FLINT felt himself hurtling down- ward into the abyss. Strange, he was not frightened; only angry because m some unaccountable fashion he had slipped backward just as he reached for the steaming dish. Then he awoke. The maddening odor of food still tickled his nostrils; and he could still feel the warmth of the steam on his hand. But the food smell quickly resolved itself into the salt pungency of the beach. And he saw that the heat on his hand was no more than the scorching of the tropic sun. Famished, and with his belt pulled to its last hole, Bill lay inert and tried to put thoughts of food out of his mind. To be sure, he had the one small coin—a peseta—that a man had flung him the day before, for carrying a trunk. But it was too precious to spend, unless the hunger pangs became too much for him. Even then, there were his mates, Custard the little Cockney, Olson the hulking Swede and Portu- guese Joe. With them he meant to share what scant sustenance the money would buy. Presentily an insistent pounding in his head sent his hand to a temple. He found a lump there. Something had struck him—perhaps even knocked him out momentarily. Bill roused himself. He began to realize what had happened. That fall—it wasn't entirely a dream. His head had undoubtedly dropped— a matter of inches. For it no longer rested on his folded coat, but in the sand itself. Bill grouped. Then he sat up suddenly. The coat was gone! And with it had vanished the money—all that stood between him and starva- tion. Bill's eyes, blue as the sky above him, soon ceased their blinking to stare, blazing, at three figures huddled a little distance away. Then rage, indignation and resentment seized him by the scruff of his tanned' neck and yanked him bodily to his feet. His beach comber friends were going through his coat! With a roar he rushed them. HE startled trio, unashamed as they were unwashed, scrambled up and faced him in a half circle. Flotsam though they were—these three sailors—in the 10 days he had spent on San Gabriel's beach Bill had welcomed their friendship. Friends! They had beaten him; robbed him. He knew them, at last, for the scum they now proved themselves. A wolfish twist of Custard’s lips bared broken, yellow teeth as he jeered, “I loves to spoil these Yankee toffs. Barmy, ’e is. Lemme ’'ave first crack at 'im mytes!” Swede Olson grunted. And the beady eyes of the Portuguese were impersonal as two black buttons as he waited, knife in hand. Bill lunged toward Custard. That runtish whelp of the British lion promptly forgot his heart’s desire. With an oath he sprang behind the screen of Olson’s bulk. Bill wheeled. Flat- footed in the sand and caught off his guard, Portuguese Joe could only stand and take it. Bill presented him with a beauty, on the button. Then, as Bill's bony knee found the pit of his stomach Portuguese Joe folded up like a rare wilted orchid and dropped in his tracks. A monstrous peach covered with blond fuzz, which was Olson’s fist, grazed Bill's head as he turned. Bill bided his time. He danced in and out, while Olson swung at him with savage sweeps which threatened to rip his head off. Meanwhile Custard bobbed and swore and raved behind him. “W'y don’t yer ’'it ’'im? Tt im just once!™ “It bain’t so easy,” Olson complained. “If he'd yoost stand still—" Giving ground before the rushes, Bill all but stumbled over the prostrate form of the Por- tuguese. As he backed away from this hazard Custard darted forward and bent over the motionless figure. He was looking for the knife Bill promptly circled Olson until he was him- self between his two antagonists. And turning suddenly he grabbed Custard from behind. He lifted him high in the air, screaming. And as Olson bore in Bill flung Custard at him. Tw»o heads cracked like twin gourds. And Custard, screaming no longer, fell into the sand. Olson halted. A right smashed like the slashing kick of a race horse against his jaw. He pawed at Bill as if he did not clearly see his weaving opponent. He was wide open as a night club when Bill stung him with a left to the face. Olson roughed him then. A wipe of a horny hand tore at Bill's ear. A thumb nail gouged his cheek. Unheeding, he planted a right over the man’'s heart and two more on the point of his chin. Abruptly the big beach comber sat down in the sand and rested his head on his arms. “Ay bain't feelin’ goot,” he observed. “All right! Your licked. Just remember that!” Bill Flint picked up his rumpled coat and thrust his hand in a pocket. It was gone—the peseta! “They got it!” he exclaimed. Somchow that tenuous anchor to windward bad heartened Bill amazingly. Possessing that, he could still laugh when his belly flapped against his backbone. And now the fact that it was gone, coupled with the manner of its going, plunged him into despair. He raised his coat and stared at it incredulously. In spite of its Fifth avenue tailor's label no old clothes man would have wasted a second glance at it. It was a bum’s coat now—and looked it. He stood there briefly and gazed at the trim liner being warped into her berth a quarter of a mile away. An American ship! Bill shook his head, bleached now to a tawny rope color. No use going over there. He knew, too well, a beach comber’s welcome. And he set his face toward the red roofs of the distant town. 11 A RE you prepared to kill a man?” The question wiped the scowl off Bill Flint's face. His blue eyes narrowed as he set down his coffee cup with a clatter. And he shot a look of suspicion at the two natives, dapper in white drill and panamas, who had stopped him. They had met Bill on the beach. The taller of the two was a slender chap with a long scar that carved a crescent moon across the coppery dusk of his countenance. He leered at Bill over the shoulder of his companion. A mountain- ous man. this one. Bill's fist clesed stealthily as he reflected on the pleasure of burying it in the stranger’'s paunch. The thin fellow stared at Bill contemptuously. Then he said to the obese man, “You'll only waste your time on this one. He's just another of those drunken Americans. The fat man giggled as he answerd: “Why, the hombre seems sober enough.” The other snorted. “Give him a peso and you'd soon see.” The lijtle eyes did not leave Bill's face as His Fatness sald, “I believe you are wrong, Juan. Anyway, the fellow's no coward. He can fight. We saw that” And to Bill he addressed himself sharply: “Listen, fellow! I want a little talk with you. There's a cafe yonder. I'll buy you coffee.” Coffee! Bill smiled. “Lead on!" he rejoined. At the cafe, His Corpulency ordered. “Cafe solo for three, chico!™ The drink was thick, strong and hot. Bill sipped it gratefully. For the moment he forgot his hunger. And meanwhile across the iron table the two natives appraised him openly: his lean strength, his gouged cheek, his sorry clothes. b Suddenly the fat man shot a question at Bill, “Could you use money?’ “Could—I—use—money?"” Bill repeated slowly, his blue eyes wide with wonder. “Don’t kid me!” Whereupon the speaker shoved a handful of silver across the table. “Take it! It is yours. There is much, much more where that came from.” Bill was picking up the coin when Scar Face burst forth with a snarl, “You have a strong stomach, chief. Me, I do not like to sit al the same table with carrion. This fellow is nothing but buzzard's meat.” ‘The huge one smiled and held up a hand like a pudding. “Be patient, Juan. We will play a little trick on the buzzards. We will cheat them on a meal. And I will perform a little magic. Yes! I will show you how to make a fine gentleman out of a jailbird.” And the fat gentleman placed a bank note on the table. He shook a pudgy finger at Bill. “Now, fcllow, let me see you pick up this money. With an air, you comprehend. Don't pounce on it. Negli- gently, now, as if you were doing me a favor Tenga cuidado—take care—or I shall be forced to take it from you.” At first the feel of the coins had made Bill heedless of all else. He hardly heard what passed between the two natives. But gradualiy he began to sense their taunts. “What's all this about?” Bill growled. “All this money— you aren’t crowding on me for nothing. What do you mean . kill 2 man? What do you want?” At Bill's outburst the speaker leaned closer. and whispered, “You are the same as a dead man now. You are nothing. But you are coming to life. You will be muy rico—very rich. For you are going to assassinate our President.” So that was the play! And he was to act the murderer, for hire! Because he was down and out—a bum—they thought he'd do anything for money. Bill suddenly saw red. He whipped back his hand and flung the fistful of coins into that evil face, which paled into a mass of dirty dough before Bill's eyes. The big man shrank back in his seat and bellowed, “Pedro!” : Bill hung a right hook on the fat man’s ear. Something like a landslide followed. The blow lifted the man mountain from his chair and dropped him on the floor in a heap of white drill as big as a week's wash. Bill caught up his own chair and spun around to attend to Scar Face. But that worthy had ducked out of sight under a table. Mystified, Bill stood with the chair raised above his head, staring. The next moment a cold, smooth voice said behind him. “One move, senor S Bill knew what that meant. In the doorway the unseen Pedro was ready, and waiting to drill him. “You may drop the chair. But keep your hands up!” Bill obeyed. At the same time he saw the dark head of Scar Face, sleek as a wet muskrat, appear above a table’s edge. And from the floor the huddle of white became articulate. “You were slow, Pedro” said the fat man in a thick voice. “I will overlook it, this once. And now that you are awake, take this treasure away to our strong box and keep him there, alone. Guard him well. And we will see whether he changes his mind. Maybe we can change it for him. Who knows?” ILL’S captor, a greasy-faced unshaved fellow, marched him across the patio behind the cafe. And there, in a thick-walled room, with one high barred window, he locked the door on the prisoner. Bill looked at the dingy chamber, at its soli- tary battered chair, and none too clean bed. High up through that narrow window blazed a bit of blue fire that was the sky. Once Bill would not have kept a dog in such kennel. But 10 days on the beach had worked wonders with squeamishness. He flung himself on the worn and faded blankets. Staring glumly at the dirty ceiling, Bill berated himself for a fool. Some sixth sense had warned him against those two natives. But he had gone blindly ahead. When- ever they pleased they could blot him out, as easily as the next tide would erase his foot- steps from the sand. Suddenly Bill clenched his two hands. No! No! Not so easily as that! When he went down he would go down fighting. - EMORIES . Thick walls could not shut them out, like the tropic sunshine, from Bill's prison. It seemed like an eon, rather than only a half-year, since the break with his father. Bill had found him in the library after another of those intolerable days on the Street. Despite the years James Flint had spent in smashing his way to the command of far flung enterprises, his oarsman’s shoulders resolutely refused to sag in the maw of his great leather chair. Flint Senior and Junior were startlingly alike. Two fighting faces, these. And too many for one household. Bill broke the silence. “Dad! I've no yen for business. It leaves me cold—this game of mak- ing money. There seems to be enough in the family, anyhow. I've got an idea. You give me a million dollars and I'll marry Janet Carson and settle down.” The well-known Flint jaw on his father jutted further forward as its owner growled, “Settle down to what?” Bill stiffened. “I'd buy myself a farm out on Long Island. And raise polo ponies.” “So you intend to be a playboy all your life?” “Not all! Just because I choose to mix busi- ness with something I enjoy 43 James Flint slapped his paper down upon the table beside him. “Let me tell you,” he cried, “it takes a mighty good man to outsmart the other fellow in a horse trade. You'd lose your million—my million—in no time, and your shirt besides.” He shock his head. “I won't do it. You hate work. You want me to ease you down in the middle of a feather bed. Well—I'm not going to.” Bill left the mantelpiece like a boxer bounc- ing off the ropes. “I've heard enough of that,” he countered. “You talk as if I were a sot. T'll start out on my own. I'll show you.” James Flint’s fist smote the arm of his chair. “Good! I hoped you had the nerve for it. I hoped you'd beat me to it.” And as Bill turned away. “Wait a moment! You're broke, I sup- pose?’ “Flat.” Bill acknowledged. “Here! Here's five hundred dollars. That's twenty tiines the stake I started out with.” Bill stocod with his hands behind him and and shook his head. “Take ijt!" Hesitantly the boy obeved. “I—T'll pay this back.” James Fiint slammed the desk drawer with an air of finality. “No! When you're in a position to pay it back, put five hundred in the savings bank. And when you can show me you've made a man of yourself, come back!" “Thank you for everything . . . Good-by And with that Bill was gone. ATER that night Janet Carson saw Bill. was like a pent-up volcano. Bill h erupted magnificently. Even now his em tions still seethed. He seized the girl and kissed her impetuo Then, as she retreated from this convulsion nature he blurted: “Janet! I'm leaving ho It can’t be helped. The two Flints don't hit off —that’s all. So the handsome hero is off seek his fortune.” Then, in softened tone, added, “Janet! I can’t offer you anything hardly. But I hope you'll come along with n I've next to nothing for a stake. But I'll g more somehow.” “It woul’n't be right. You'd only be han pered by a wife.” y / | Custard swore be- hind the big Swede. “W’y don’t yer ’it ’im? ’It ’im just once!” Suspicious, Instantly, he demanded, “Y sure you aren't afraid of being hampered an indigent husband?” Te the small boy in him Janet replig “That's not worthy of you, you're making a b mistake. And you're too proud, and too stul born, to admit it to yourself. You're throwi away a wonderful chance, with your father He straightened up, bristling, as he retorte “Never mind that! I didn't come here f advice.” % The sweep of her dark eyebrows lifte “Excuse me! I see you don't want a wife, Bi The lord and master demands a chattel, who answer meekly when she’s spoken to, al otherwise be dumb.” “I never realized it before.” he grumbled, “I" been a fool. I thought you cared.” “But I do, Bill!” He swung toward the door. Janet sprang afte him. “Bill!” she cried. “Don’t go off like thaf You're angry.” On the threshold he turned and fought dow the urge to take her in his arms. “No! No angry. Just—just disillusioned, Janet.” Sz Bill Flint's words crashed down about hi ears. “I'll put all this behind me.” he resolveq suddenly . . “Where'll I go?” As he neared the hotel where he had take a room, a hoarse newsy thrust an extra at him “Big revolution in South America.” Bill boug the paper. “Trouble, eh?” he mused. “That where I belong. Trouble’s my middle name Once in his room he turned to the shippi news. “The Miraflores,” he was readin presently, “for Cristobal, Callao, Mollendo a: Valparaiso. Sails 3 p.m. tomorrow.” Bill Flint jumped up. He dumped a travelil