Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

870 devoured a certain girl, grinned like a kid. Out of the dungeon and cheers came a whistle. It was the game’s end. We had beaten Harvard 15 to 9, and Halibut Haines, the boy we thought could not play football, had done it all. It was then I kissed him. Could you blame me? And, lemme tell you some- thing, to go no further, so did somebody else. I was at the door of the big private dining room at the Lenox looking in at the hero sitting at the head of the table with Ann Blaisdell at his right, when one of the Harvard advisory board tendered me the contract I had longed for. I opened it, looked at the figures, sighed, and then gazed in at the faces of those boys who had fought like soldiers in that terrific game, at the fine loyal Southern ladies and gen- tlemen who had accompanied us up from le} U ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. their sunny South, and suddenly I realized that money ain’t everything in life. “It’s a mighty sweet offer,” I says, “‘ but I’m sorry; I can’t take it. I just sorta like folks where I am, and—well, I guess I'll stay on there.” He murmured something in a shocked way and passed on, a nervous little man, rubbing his hands, stepping into his place. “Mr. Curley,” he says apologetically, ‘“yvou didn’t give us much notice to lay out a victory spread that would—er—do our hotel—er—justice. Isn’t there—er— something you might—er—suggest; some—- er—one thing you’d like—er—particularly well?” “Why,” says I, “ as far as the boys are concerned I think there’s only one thing they would eat.” “ What’s that?’’ says he, with popped eyes. I answered by shouting the question to everybody at the table: ‘‘ Whaddye want to eat, boys?” And the answer was: “ Halibut!” lo} THE ADVENTURER E find him at his desk when we come down, The first man in the office every day; He has a small place out Westchester way— His orbit is his suburb and the town, And regularity his one renown! The train runs by his watch, we always say; His daily schedule knows no work nor play— Love—married to Routine, we say, is Brown! And yet—his desk looks on the bay—when ships Stride out to sea we watch his eyes and lips! He studies maps and time-tables and trips; Knows lands and cities he has never seen; And every night, after his day’s routine, He tastes adventure—in this magazine! Roselle Mercier Montgomery. CoMnniclooolkxs (©