All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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120 before falling a victim. At last he emerged from the grove and stepped upon a lawn, where he paused for reconnaissance. Fifty yards from him stood a house. It was large and dark and quiet. For two or three min- utes he observed it carefully, but detected no sign of life. There was no other build- ing to be seen; if there was a garage it was probably on the farther side of the house. He was more interested in discovering a garage than anything else. He walked rapidly across the lawn, in- tending to pass in what seemed to be the rear of the dwelling. The path he chose carried him near to the end of a broad porch, from which half a dozen steps de- scended to the lawn. Close to the edge of the top step his watchful eyes observed an object that caused him to slacken pace, then stop. It was a hat. ‘“‘T need a hat,” thought Pete. His bare feet were soundless on the steps as he ascended lightly and captured the ob- ject of his desire. It was a straw hat with a striped ribbon and by good chance it was an excellent fit. ‘* T ought to get her a hat,”’ he murmured. “« She’ll expect it.”’ It seemed quite safe to explore the porch a bit further, so he moved softly along, avoiding a hammock, a table and several chairs. He was midway the length of the house when he became aware that there was alight within. Its mellow glow reached him through a curtained window. Pete held his breath as he came to a halt, and decided that his next move would be a retreat. And then he found himself bathed in a flood of illumination that came from di- rectly overhead. Some one within the house had switched on the porch-light! ‘“Run!”’ he whispered to himself. Too late! In front of him a French win- dow was slowly opening. Pete stared at it hypnotically. Wider and wider it swung as he stood there inert, as incapable of flight as though his bare feet were nailed to the porch floor. And then from out the window stepped a stout gentleman of middle age whose face wore an innocuous and cordial smile. He did not seem to be smiling at anything in particular, but rather at the whole world. ALL-STORY WEEKLY. Evidently it had been warm in the house, for he was coatless and collarless and his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. Hugged against his bosom with one hand was a bot- tle in which there was no cork. Swing- ing loosely in the other hand was a carbo- nated water siphon. The stout gentleman’s glance rested upon Pete with the utmost friendliness. His smile ceased to be a generalization and became a greeting. He bowed. He winked slowly and ponderously. The winking achievement pleased him so well that he repeated it, and afterward tried it with the other eye, where he again succeeded to his still greater satisfaction. “Prince,” said the stout gentleman, ‘“have a drink.” Pete indulged in a deep sigh of relief. “Sir,” he said, returning the bow, ‘“ your hospitality charms me. I don’t mind if I do.” ‘“ Hold ’em,” said the gentleman, proffer- ing the bottle and the siphon. ‘ Have a chair, prince. Back in a minute.” He turned and disappeared through the French window. There was a barely per- ceptible unsteadiness in his gait, but it did not interfere with his efficency, for he re- turned within a few seconds, bearing two glasses. Pete and the gentleman drank to each other punctiliously, the latter wav- ing his glass with a grandiose flourish before he put it to his lips. “Lil private stock, prince,’ and the gentleman winked again, this time with the Original eye. ‘“‘ Nectar, sir, if you will permit me to “say so,” Affirmed Pete, with another bow. ‘But I regret to say that you have made a slight mistake. I am not a prince.” The gentleman smiled knowingly and made a gesture of deprecation. “Sall right, old man. My mistake. Li- able to run into princes any time round here. Had prince callin’ on my daughter ’safternoon. Just as soon have prince round as anybody. I’m liberal. Have lil drink?” Pete declined regretfully. His host placed bottle and siphon on a table with meticulous care. ‘Listen, prince.” comiclboolk C©