All-Story Weekly, March 1, 1919 — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

“Tt is impossible,” said Millicent. “ We are agreed that such a dénouement would be mediocre.” “But I love you,” said Jerome earnest- ly. ‘I cannot go back home without you. I shall stay here, a prisoner, until you give ~ your consent.”’ “But there was a similar situation in ‘ Cupid—Kidnaper,’ and we all agreed that the author of that book adopted a cheap course in making the hero fall in love when he should have been thinking of obtaining his freedom. It sounded like a penny- thriller.” “T don’t care about ‘ Cupid—Kidnaper,’ or its author, or Missouri Dave, or Spike, or anybody or anything in the world but you!” pleaded Jerome. And they moved so far away that Jean cotiid hear nothing more. The gang retired early that night. by eight o’clock the house was in darkness. The light in Jerome’s room was the only one to be seen. His valet, Jean, was missing, but he thought little of that. His guard at the hall door had gone to sleep, and a loud and penetrating snore was all that came from that direction. It was the most artistic snoring Jerome had ever heard. . s He walked to the window and looked out. ~ He could plainly see, stretched upon the = lawn, the form of his guard. His rifle lay some feet away from him, and the man was evidently fast asleep. He observed that the large iron gate in the wall was hanging open. a “T have tired them out at: last,” he thought. “ They have forgotten the ‘usual precautions. Now for it. I didn’t hope to = get away until at least an hour later.” Be It was the work of a moment to tie two _ blankets together and lower himself to the ground. He landed safely and crept away in the darkness. : As he disappeared, an excited lady of ample proportions, who had concealed her- self behind a rain-barrel at the corner of the house, whispered: ‘“‘ He has gone.” | _ “Thank God,” replied a gruff voice. eee =. Our troubles are over,” said the stout ’ AS a eh ale I FU fe thal TR Oy ‘ rar Feelin © ~'- “ Now to get rid of this mustache,” sai Frothingham. “5 And this damned red handkerchief,” said One-Shot, who had crept to them from a his position on the lawn. = ‘““ Now to the library, and we will com- pare notes,” announced Frothingham. Each produced a bundle of notes, which had been taken during the days which had just elapsed. All of them touched upon the actions of the young man while a prisoner. There were five in the party. Millicent had retired early. She was tired out, and they did not rouse her. It was about midnight, and Bloody Mike was reading the notes he had made, when the sound of deep snoring—awful snoring — came down the stairway. ‘“My Heavens, we have forgotten Pen- dleton!” said Josephine. - “Sure enough,” said Frothingham. ‘* Jean and I will go up-stairs-and wake him up. He shouldn’t miss this discussion.” -Frothingham and Jean went up-stairs, and were amazed to find Pendleton wide awake, sitting on the floor in front of the prisoner’s door, and snoring like a sea- lion. = “T thought you were asleep,” said Frothingham. : “ Asleep, nothing,” said Pendleton. ‘I~ haven’t closed my eyes.*I never snore when _ I’m asleep, so I had to stay awake. Did I do a good job?” ‘““ Excellent,” said Frothingham; ‘but you can stop now. The prisoner has made his escape.” “How long ago?” demanded Pendleton. “About four hours,” said Frothingham. ‘And you kept me here to snore un- necessarily for four hours? My Heavens, man, do you know the agony I have been through? I have imitated the sawmill and every kind of wild animal in the jungle and all the birds that fly and all the fish that swim. I have been through all the imita- tions five or six times. I couldn’t stand straight snoring for more than an hour, and then I had to adopt variations to keep from going crazy. You’re a fine lot of friends. You forgot me—admit it, you lobster.” “Oh, forget it,” said Fordham, alias Jean. ‘Come on down-stairs and havea — 7 = Ss | - (ae — ms T* Le - — = ai os ot —