The All-Story, March 1914 — page 145: what you’re looking at

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

Gs ARDON me. Moore?” Miss Peggy Graham, sten- ographer, occupying a corner seat in a Broadway subway car, looked quickly over the top of her newspaper into the smiling eyes of the tall, dark man who had addressed her, and in a second de- cided that he was the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen. Peggy had also some claim to pul- chritude, being small, dark, and alive, with wide-open, inquisitive blue eyes and the expression of the gir] who is learning and earning at the samie tune. Sometimes she was a very proper young lady, having careful regard for the proprieties. Just then she was not so sure. He had been seated opposite for two stations, but she had not noticed him before, because the serial story running in the newspaper had absorbed all her attention. Now he occupied the va- cant seat beside her, and there was anticipation in his eyes. “May I return the buckle now? he asked softly before she could an- swer his first question, and his hand moved to the inside pocket of his coat. “ Or may I keep it?” Peggy’s paper was lowered into her Are you not Miss x’ lap. “What buckle? I—I’m not—” The man looked hurt. 618 Simpson “Please don't fool me again,” he pleaded. “It is a year since you lost it—remember? And though you seem to have forgotten me, I haven't forgot ten you. Tve kept the buckle, hoping I'd meet you again and give it back to you or be given perniission to keep it May I?” Peegy giggled. It was so queer and the hint of romance was very inter- esting. In fact, it gave her a littl thrill. But her glance, avoiding his, sped up and down the car to see what the rest of the passengers were thinking. Since they were apparently taking it for granted that she knew the mau, her courage and curiosity increased simultaneously. The stranger was watching her ev- ery movement hungrily, waiting for her to say something, and with a fitt- ting, bafiling glance into his face, she asked very demurely: “Do I look like Miss Moore?” * You are Miss Moore.” He leaned a little nearer to her. “ Don’t you remember me? The Elwood’s dance —and the little seat under the palims, where vou ran trom me and made your aunt take you home? I followed you and tound the buckle of your shoe, and when I called next day the maid told me you had left the city. I've been trying to find you ever since.” comiclooks CO