Life — December 30, 1915 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

1276 desses; my pedestal held just a sweet, human girl—a nurse, serving her first year at the hospital, that time we had the smash-up, in ‘80. And you talk of beauty, and style, and brain; but with me it isn’t of a pretty face or graceful form I think, when I recall that magic time; and least of all is it of any intellectual prowess. I'm not sure whether she knew ‘the dif- ference between physics and metaphysics, or whether she'd ever heard of a cosine. But she was endowed with the charm of charms in a woman—sympathy. She would listen by the hour while I poured out to her my young hopes and ambi- tions; I could tell her all the dreams a young fellow cherishes most deeply—and would die of mortification if even his best friend guessed at their existence. She always understood; and though she talked little herself, she had the effect of making me appear at my very best. I felt I could move the world, if she would just stand by and watch. But in spite of her kindness and gentleness she turned me down, | Many times I've ques: tioned . “That was all right for a sick boy,” commented the Diplomat, “but for a wife, a girl like Alison- “ ‘Alison,’ echoed the Engineer, in- voluntarily, “a nice name, anyway; that was her name.” “Why——” the Explorer “that's an odd coincidence; so was hers —Alison Forbes. “Alison Forbes—" breathed the So- cialist—" Alison Forbes—Marsden! " And suddenly there was a silence, and the four friends looked strangely at one another. For they knew in that moment that there had been in those lives of theirs left far behind, not four first girls, but one—seen with different eyes. mused— “ou, wave A MeaRTI” HOW FAR WILL HE GET? The Intruder By Reginald Barlow IDWINTER, bitterly cold. Having entered the house, I drew the blinds and lit the gas-logs, stretched myself in an arm-chair and dosed. A strange feeling crept over me; someone else was in the room. I slowly opened my eyes; they stared straight into a gun-muzzle; my hands flew up. “Stand up!" I stood. The other hand deftly extracted my re- volver, “Sit down!” T sat. “ Rotten weather!" I agreed. “How did you get in?” I asked, “Basement window. How d'you?" “Front door, of course. He looked quizzically. “ Ain't man coming home to-night?” * “Certainly not; don’t expect him,” “That's funny, Where's the serv- ants? The curtains behind him trem- bled, “With the Richmans, Atlantic City,” I informed. Why not call when he's home?” I inquired. A gun, hand and arm divided the curtain. “Right; feel warmer now; must get to work.” “Been here before?” I asked, as the newcomer, tall and strong, covered the bullet-head before me. Rich- “Sure. Remember the burglary in this house five years ago? Well, I was on that job, Another night like this. I sneaked up— ” “Biff!” The newcomer landed square- ly. “Cord in that drawer,” he said. “Tie him up.” I obeyed. “You're Mr. Jones, I believe—I'm Mr. Richman,” he continued. “My agent wired that I'd find you here. Knew I'd LOOKING FORWARD comicbooks.com