All-Story Weekly, March 1, 1919 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

ult hy BUM a (iP ee a) ee ER at ET Ot ONL Pie aN 1 phology htaK NA aN See aN vy! } Le | oJ a | 4 2A * viet ¢ Tats rs ; they often get like the way he was? What do you call it?” “ Delirious! Oh, it’s quite common. ~ You needn’t be afraid of him.” “T ain't,” lied Mame. “I'll take care of him. Ain’t it queer, Miss Dean? He don’t know you’ve been here at all.” “It’s probably better,” said Miss Dean. And yet she was conscious of a vague feeling of dissatisfaction as she said it. She -. wanted no credit for anything, so far as the Grouch was concerned; nevertheless, she had certain strongly marked feminine traits, and a dislike for being wholly ignored was one of them. “But he knew J was here,” remarked Mame, and a tone of superiority crept into - _ her voice. ““T expect that’s because he’s come to be sort of dependent on me for everything.” “Probably,” said Miss Dean, curtly. “Don’t forget about the ice—and the tab- lets, if he should wake. Good night.”’ As she walked back to her cottage she reflected upon virtue being its own reward, but derived singularly little satisfaction from her thoughts. 7 Ki. CHAPTER XXII, “ BALANCE—ONE PAIR SLIPPERS.” ISS DEAN was awake early in the morning, but she did not arise at once. She lay quietly, looking up at the whitewashed ceiling and reviewing the events of the night. She was not worrying in the least about the case of the Grouch, for she had not left the cabin until she was certain that the peak load of his troubles had been passed. Beside, Mame had not come to call her dur- ing the night, which was additional assur- a ance that things were probably going well: But she was not yet complacent over the Grouch’s delirium. Although, as before, she rejected the action that she had done any- thing more than mere duty, and while she asked no gratitude or praise, it ‘seemed un- satisfactory to reflect that her services were wholly unknown to him, even though she did not wish to have them acknowledged. Next to the delirium itself, Miss Dean con- eS ~~ as ty Se Oe ioe wr aS ee ee ee a en a ere a ee a oem “= a Se ee ee THE GROUCH. — —- et a = i > —— Pay ting a =~ — 2 ~ rape < ie” See te re ae a oS — 5 ——— — SP) —s = Is > v< 2 ean SS ~~ eS gt Oe ae ge SS ay ~ ee s = - : a i : +See sidered, with unsatisfying results, some of the matters were incidental to it. It was decidedly mystifying to learn that Tilley had been sending telegrams to the city concerning herself—that is, if the Grouch was really babbling facts, rather than bits of imagination. She had no idea to whom the naturalist could be telegraph- ing, or why, or what he said, and she won- dered if it were true that he intended to send a copy of the photograph to the city. “Tm afraid,” she murmured, “ that I’ve been pushing things a bit too far. I’m al- together too fond of creating situations, I’d - better reform for a while. Perhaps I’d bét- ter go away. I'll see.” When she had come to the end of her reflections and found herself beginning again, she arose quickly, walked over to her bedroom window and breathed deeply of the fresh morning air. It was hardly past sun- rise, but all desire for sleep had vanished. _ She walked over to the closet, took out a long coat, slipped it on and then slid her bare feet into a pair of shoes. Catching up a rough towel, she left the cottage and fol- lowed the bank of the creek for about a hundred yards, to a point where the lively little stream was arched and shaded by wil- lows. The place was one of placid seclu- sion, particularly at that time in the morn- ing. Pushing her way through some bushes, she came to a spot where the creek widened and deepened and slackened its tumultuous pace almost to a halt. A shelving bank sloped down to a quiet pool. Miss Dean slipped off her coat—and everything else. She blew a kiss to a chip- munk who sat up and watched unabashed, and then slipped down into the pool, laugh- ing as the cool water enveloped her. For five minutes she had a wonderful time, swimming and splashing and trying to keep her hair dry. Then she scrambled ashore, seized the towel and attacked herself so vigorously that in a short time she was a very pink lady. All this put her in a mood for whis- tling.as she walked back to the cottage, enveloped in her long coat, with a blue-and- white nightie thrown carelessly over her shoulder. =comicbooks.com