Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

POKER and shout the truth to his heart’s content and the limit of his lungs—and the dam- age still would have been done! He glow- ered at Dixon and drew breath. He would speak the truth now, while there was still a chance that it might not be too late and— Dixon, with his implements laid beside his empty plate with the same suddenness that had marked their going into service, turned to Betty and asked: “ What’s your name?” ““ My—my—” Betty stammered, emerg- ing from a dark study of her own. “Your first name?” “ Oh! Why—Elizabeth.” “Well, that’s mighty pret ig pretty,” Mr. Dixon approved. “ But what do they call you—those that love you?” “No one does,” Betty said simply, al- though there was nothing simple about the momentary glance that traveled in James’s direction from beneath her lowered lids. “Don’t be too sure about that, kid!” Dixon chuckled deeply. ‘‘ Well, if any one did love you, they’d call you Betty.” “Tt sounds rather nice.” _“ What do you mean, honey?” the visitor demanded eagerly. ‘Do you. mean it sounds nice the way I say itr” ‘JI suppose that’s what I do mean,” Betty murmured, and failed to raise her de- structive eyes, From James Whitmore a small, strange sound issued. Dixon, evidently uncertain as to whether it had come from James or Curlew, turned quickly, flushed a trifle, and looked defiantly at them. ‘Tm not trying to get fresh with this FACES, kid!” he said. lot!” “No law against, so far as I know, Dix- on,” Mr. Curlew said amiably. “ Have some of this—” “Not another thing, Mr. Curlew!” the visitor grinned. “I think Miss Banford might like—” ‘““No—nothing, thank you,” Betty said hastily. “Supper’s over, then?” Mr. Dixon in- quired with another grin, and leaned for- ward slightly, plainly poised for a leap into further activities so soon as his host should give the sign. “ [—er—yes!”” Henry contrived to smile, although with vast effort he had just completed the mental outline of a discourse which should have kept Mr. Dixon seated in the warm room for half an hour at least. Dixon, even then, was at Betty’s chair, assisting her. Dixon beamed benevolent- ly on them all, even upon James. “Well, that was fine!” he said in his simple, hearty way. “ That’s just what I like, this time of night—just a light little snack instead of a lot of heavy stuff.” “It composes one for sleep,’’ Henry sug- gested distinctly. Mr. Dixon laughed heartily. “Does it do that to your” he asked. “Tt never does to me. Just fills me up with more pep, y’ know!” And he con- sidered Betty, and his wide, toothful grin appeared brilliantly. “ Mr. Curlew says it’s too late to work, honey,” he concluded. ‘“He’s right. Let’s you and me go some- where now!” 87 “T like her—I like her a TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK U U U NIGHT EYES @ este brazen street lamps of the night, Stare in my window without shame; Bold creatures of the gutter bred, With lust aflame. But modest stars, coquettishly, Peep in my room from far-off skies, With meshy veils of silken clouds Before their eyes. Margaret Wheeler Ress. COMnnicloOokKxs (6@ 5}