All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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100 house, where the dance was to be held, twinkled into view, that Nora’s curiosity bested her resolve never again to speak to Tige Northrup. ‘What about Garry? What did you do to him?” she demanded insistently. “Oh, Gary!) Why, he turned over his undivided interest in this here party to me, Nora,” replied Tige, giving the siren a re- sounding blast. “But the car—-he Nora indignantly. » told me—” began “Why, Nora, he ain’t got no more in-. terest in this car than a jackrabbit, not now. <As for Loop and Dummy, if they behaves themselves like good little boys for the balance of the night, I reckon [ll let ’em ride home with us.” Tige played a regular jazz tune of the siren as he caught the faint wail of a violin stealing out from the open windows of the school house. “ Tige—you made me so mad! I hate you—-sometimes!’’ stormed Nora. “ If you don’t tell me all about what’s happened to Gary, I sha’n’t dance with you—not once!”’ ‘ Pgshaw, now, little girl, if that’s the U U over in Nevada. ALL-STORY WEEKLY. way you feel about it, ’course I'll tell you. Gary he raised three hundred dollars on a hittle bunch o’ Smoke Lake steers to buy himself a interest in this here car. Hap- pened I had three hundred bucks of my hard-earned savings salted down which same | trotted over to the man who bought the steers—that smoothed things over for everybody but Gary. ‘ ‘‘T just mentioned to him that the sheriff was gonna be at the dance to-night and Gary allowed he’d forgotten something That’s where he’s headed for right now.” ‘“* Gary—a—rustler!”’ aghast. “Qh, well,” said Tige, who could now afford to enact a charitable role. He'll have to do some tall rustling if he gets to Nevada over them sagebrush hills and al- kali flats. Gee, it’s great for a feller to be rolling up to a dance in his own car and with his best girl.” Tige jumped out and reached up to help Nora alight. | “Tm glad you think so,” said she, frowning and dimpling at the same time. exclaimed Nora U IN CITY STREETS BY MARTHA HASKELL CLARK D™ seen through murky pane and fading light, Hemmed round with smoke-stained brick and dingy walls, There gleams a tiny strip of sunset bright, That golden on my dust-thick window falls. And clear amid the clamor of the street I hear a pine-stirred murmur borne along Of bough-hung rivers, flowing cool and sweet, And echoed note of distant thrushes’ song. I smell the mingled scent of birch and fir, In shadowed ways that wander, dim and cool, Past hidden swamps and alders wind-astir Beside the reedy edge of lowland pool. The night-wind brushes soft along the stair, With shadowed crown of woven starlight sweet; And lo, I feel the breath of pine-sweet air, And wind-swept leagues—within a city street. comiclboolk C©