All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

122 wave of his arm. “ ’Sall yours. Anything you see—’s yours. What ’Il it be?” It occurred to Pete that so generous an invitation to trespass further upon hospi- tality should not be ignored. ‘Tf you could loan me a pair of shoes,” he suggested, ‘“‘ I would be greatly indebted to you.” ; ‘Dozen pair shoes!” said the stout gen- tleman earnestly. ‘“‘ And a hat—a lady’s hat.” ‘“‘Lady’s hat? Lady’s—” His host looked him in the eye, placed a finger alongside his nose and winked roguishly. ‘“‘Lady’s hat—for princess?” ‘For the viscountess, sir.” “ Dozen hats!” exclaimed his host warm- ly. “ Dozen hats for viscountess. Back in a minute.” He rushed upstairs at an alarming speed and Pete heard him charging around on the floor above. The gentleman had an un- accountable way of keeping his word almost to the letter. It was little more than a minute before he was back again, his arms full of hats and shoes. He dumped them all on the floor and bowed. ‘ All yours, prince.” Pete was not long in finding a pair of shoes that would stay‘ on his feet, but the selection of a hat from among the fragile heap was a task that perplexed him. His difficulty was not ignored by his host, for the stout gentleman suddenly reached into the pile, yanked forth something that was broad brimmed and lacy and thrust it into his hands. ‘“ There’s hat for princess!” he exclaimed. “My compliments. Have a lil drink?” He hugged Pete’s arm delightedly as he led the way back to the porch. The bot- tle and the siphon inspired him to confi- denceés. “Viscount, observe bottle, please. Lis- ten. Last bottle Scotch in Larchmont.” He lifted the bottle and stroked it gently. “Last bottle anything in Larchmont,” he added. | Pete viewed the bottle with a new and reverent light in his eyes. “ Sir,” he said, ‘“‘ knowledge of that fact ALL-STORY WEEKLY, overwhelms me with the true measure of your hospitality.” ‘‘Sall right, prince, old man. ’Sall yours. Take bottle.” But there were some things that even Pete Stearns could not bring himself to do. He sighed and shook his head. To what unknown heights of generosity might this genial gentleman arise—this gentleman who would even renounce the last bottle in Larchmont? “* Have lil drink, anyhow.” And it was a very small drink that Pete poured for himself, for he had discovered that within him lay a conscience. ‘“'Where’s princess?” demanded his host abruptly. Pete answered with an indefinite wave of the hand. ‘“ She awaits me,” he said. The stout gentleman winked again, knowingly, and thrust an elbow into the ribs of his guest. He was clinging to Pete’s arm. Pete hesitated. He wanted something more; in fact, he had not yet obtained that for which he had gone in search. Yet why hesitate? Surely a gentleman who offered his last bottle would not quibble over an automobile. ‘“Do you happen, sir, to have a car that I could borrow for a short time?” . “Car? Le’s see.” His host thought for several seconds. ‘‘ Nope, all cars out with family. All cars out in society. All cars—”’ He paused, then smiled broadly yet mys- teriously. ‘Sh! This way, prince.” Although there was nobody in the house, the owner thereof tiptoed his way carefully along the porch toward the rear, with a con- stant beckoning and a warning for caution. He created in Pete the impression that they were now upon an errand of distinctly clandestine character and must manage the affair accordingly. Down the steps to the lawn and around the corner of the house they went, in single file. The stout gentleman paused near a small porch that evidently constituted an entrance to the kitchen. He looked around cautiously in the semidarkness. Bidding Pete to remain exactly where he stood, he cCoOmiclbooks C©