Screenland (May-Oct 1931)

for J uly 1931 63 EXICAN By Charles W infield Fessier IVORCE He then San Diego. Ought to gain on 'em this way." "Not so fast," pleaded Alvin. "My uncle used to drive a fire truck and he gave me some good advice. Alvin,' he said, 'Alvin, if you ever grow up and get a job driving a fire truck remember this: speed's all right but too much of it is like too much salt in ice cream. Take care that you don't drive so fast that you get your truck all mixed up with a brick wall. A dead fireman's practically no good whatsoever to the owner of a building that's burning fifteen blocks away.' If you want to poke Montgomery in the nose, take my uncle's advice and drive slow. Otherwise, instead of poking Montgomery on the nose, you'll have to write him a dirty letter from the hospital." "You're about as pleasant company as a stowaway on a trans-Atlantic plane," commented Horace and stepped on the throttle. The rough short-cut behind him, Horace sent the car speeding along a smooth crowded highway, darting in and out of traffic, leaving a sizzling trail of curses behind him and sending a look of startled fear into Alvin's wide eyes. A traffic policeman on foot barred the way. leaped to one side just in time to save his neck. "Oh-oh," moaned Alvin. "He's taking the number and I'm the guy they'll lock up tomorrow !" Horace searched the line of cars for the familiar blue sedan. It was not in sight. He pressed harder on the throttle with no result. The car was giving all it had. Somehow he cut through Los Angeles without being stopped. Then he was on the highway leading to Long Beach. Traffic had thinned. It ought to be easier to locate the blue sedan now. "Seems to me," complained Alvin, gripping the door and pressing his feet against the floorboards, "that you'd use your bean. You had all night to punch Montgomery on the nose but you couldn't think of it until he starts going somewhere. Hope he licks the devil out of you." Horace curved around a track and slithered back to his own side of the road. Far ahead a red light weaved back and forth across the highway. At first the intervening distance seemed to remain unchanged. Then it gradually closed up. Finally Horace's headlights revealed a glint of blue ahead. It was Montgomery's sedan. Horace drew alongside, leaned out and waved toward the curb. Montgomery, probably considering himself arrested for speeding, obeyed. Horace parked alongside and got out. Montgomery opened the sedan door. "What's this?" he demanded. "Assault and batten', I think," explained Alvin. "My boy friend wants to poke you in the nose." Montgomery caught sight of Horace. He stepped from the car. "What the devil's the idea?" he demanded. "Stopping a man like this! Are you drunk or something?" "Show you," grunted Horace, and let fly, striking Montgomery a glancing blow on the cheek. Montgomery crashed a huge fist against Horace's jaw and Horace hit the pavement. He stayed there a moment. Then he crouched low, got a football linesman's start and hurled himself forward. His head caught Montgomery in the pit of the stomach. The man sighed gustily and collapsed, his head striking the running board of his sedan. "Have you killed him?" came a timid voice. Iola was leaning out the sedan window, studying the recumbent Montgomery with interest. "Hope so," muttered Horace, fingering his abused jaw. "Now vou get out of that car and come with me. You've caused me enough trouble for one night. If you argue I'll hit you on the head with a wrench and take you anyway." (Continued on page 123)