Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

THE WAY OF “To do what?” “Fo escape her kiss.’” Cameron looked covertly at Virginia, to see her nibbling at her lips. Her face was aflame. ‘Joe Gibson saw it all,” she declared. “Joe wouldn’t lie.’ She met Cameron’s gaze. Her eyes were alight with an accus- ing fire. ‘““She called you ‘ dear ’!” she charged. ‘Gibson said he heard her!”’ ‘“T think she did,” admitted Cameron. “But she was really thinking of Baxter, and I am sure—”’ “ Ah!” Virginia exclaimed. Her face had paled. Her lips were again tight-set, again contempt flamed in her eyes. She stepped upon the porch, walked to the door and stood before it, a hand on the knob. “T think that is all, Mr. Cameron,” she announced. ‘‘ You seem to think that you can trifle with people and make them be- lieve you are serious. I don’t wish you any harm, though, and so I advise you to leave Ransome as soon as possible. Gibson and the other men are very vindictive. I overheard them talking about you. If you don’t go away they will hurt you!” She opened the door, stepped inside. Cameron could hear her as she crossed the kitchen floor. But there was joy in Cameron’s heart despite the gloomy expression of his face as he went down the walk toward the gate. Virginia’s jealousy could mean only one thing! o ——_—— CHAPTER XXIII. TREACHERY. FISS FARGO had betrayed signs of MI nervousness. Within half an hour Cameron, who had been staring out through the open.door, had looked at her several times. Twice he had seen her glance at the big clock that hung on the front wall. Three-quarters of an hour before quitting time he soberly addressed the girl. “Miss Fargo,” he said, “‘ Baxter wasn’t _ doing so well at noon. Please go up there and see if there is anything you can do.” She was out of her chair before he ceased 107 speaking. When she went out of the door a few seconds later he smiled. But instantly the office became lonely. To Cameron’s ears as he sat there came various sounds—the staccato thudding of a riveting machine, the monotonous rumbling of a concrete mixer, the incessant banging of hammers, the coughing of the dummy engine. Outside activity; thought. Cameron could not work. For the first time in many days the office irked him. He had no interest in work. Work was a thing any man could do. There were certain ways of doing work. It was a sci- ence. There were methods, means, cus- toms, proved theories, mathematical prob- lems that always worked out according to rule, technical tenets by which a man abided. Love didn’t work out that way. There was no rule or custom. A man couldn’t approach love as he approached his work. He had found that out. Love wasn’t a mathematical problem, there were no stand- ards to go by. THE BUFFALO, inside Cameron sat at his desk and watched | the sun go down. The light streamed into the open doorway and struck the wall be- hind him. He watched the light vanish. He got up and put on his coat. Dusk had come, He straightened some papers on his desk, carried some to Miss Fargo’s desk and laid them in a wire basket. Then he stood for an instant, gazing around. Reaching the door, he paused, mildly astonished. Sitting on the bottom step, his elbows on his knees, his hands supporting his chin, was Calamity. Cameron closed the door, locked it and walked down the steps, passing Calamity, who did not move. ‘“ Calamity,” said Cameron, looking down at the man, “‘ you seem to be out of your latitude. I think this is the first time you have ever favored us with a visit.” Calamity looked up, his mournful eyes a shade more mournful than usual. ““T’ve béen thinkin’ of comin’,’ he ob- served. ‘I’ve been wantin’ to look this place over. But there’s always too many Comicooolks silence—and - (C@)