Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

haley « a 683 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, “You bet your boots you wouldn’t!” ‘But, my dear father! What absurd conduct—a man of your age—traipsing off and renting a room when you have a per- fectly good home—a family!” Fortunately there was a chair near Ama- lie. She dropped gratefully into it. The - wireman’s grip on the stranger relaxed, his hands fell away. Philip Swift took off his glasses and wiped them carefully. ~ “Home!” roared the stranger. ‘‘ Fami- ly! That’s just it! They were driving me insane. I wanted a place where I could call my soul my own! I’m sick and tired of being told when to get up and when to go to bed! I haven’t had a minute’s peace since all you know-it-alls began coming home from college—telling me what to do and how to do it! I don’t want to eat prunes in the morning! I loathe ’em! And calories—and those what-do-you-call- em’s—vitamines! I got along nearly fifty years without the things and I’m darned if I’ll eat em now. I had to get away or go nutty. Ill come and go when I want to, do you hear? I won’t be bullied by a lot of officious women!”’ She drew herself up majestically, looked with ineffable scorn about the room. “Then he ain’t a crook?” ventured Charlie Dew miserably. Though he towered head and shoulders over her, she seemed to look down upon him from an immense height. ‘And who are you?” she inquired pleas- antly. ‘One of father’s new friends?” “No, he isn’t,” bellowed the stranger; “he’s another one of your clan. Hasn't learned to mind his own business!” Her contemptuous gaze wandered to Amalie. “And of course, since you are in this business for money, you would naturally aid and abet my father in this absurd con- — duct.” Amalie struggled to her feet, her cheeks flaming, but her defense came from another quarter. “ She does nothing of the sort,” said the stranger hotly. ‘She didn’t know the first thing about me until to-night. She didn’t even want me to take the room.” _ The square-toed shoes made purposefully three combative lodgers. for the door. Once there, they turned, and Amalie felt the sharp saber of that accusing glance boring through her, before it shift- ed to the rebellious stranger. “Under these circumstances, father,” she announced awfully, ‘“‘ we shall have to wash our hands of you!” “Thank God!” he murmured fervently. When she had gone, there was a swift in- terchange of uncertain glances between the They seemed strangely depleted as to words, and it was the literary light who assumed the rdle of spokesman. “ This—this is very unfortunate,” he ob- served feebly. “‘I regret that you misin- terpreted our intentions. I assure you—” “You -needn’t mind,” interrupted the fourth lodger vigorously, ‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear your explanations. This is my room, anyhow—and I’m in no mood to hold a reception. Good evening!” They sauntered out, a sorrowful proces- sional of frustrated philanthropy — of un- laureled chivalry. As the door closed upon them, Amalie turned timidly to the stran- ger. “{—I’m very sorry your room is so— so muddled. Ill send Victoria.” “Oh, I don’t mind,” he told her gruffly, ‘“muddles don’t bother me as they do the girls.” “T expect your daughter zs particular,” ventured Amalie gently. “Three of ’em,” he corrected. “I have three daughters—all heavyweights. Brainy, you know. Ever since my wife died— it’s been awful!” “ Three,” she echoed with a polite show of interest. “ Still, it is rather nice, their being intellectual.” “ Oh, intellect is all right once in a while —but for a steady diet—” He shrugged his shoulders, looked reflectively at her for a moment. “ You should have known bet- ter,” he accused irritably. “ Known better?” she repeated wonder- ingly. “Than to let those kids run over you like this.” “But I wanted them to be happy. I tried to make a home for them.” “Sure you did, and you succeeded,” he 3 A oO CORMIC LOOKS EO