Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 7, 1925 — page 167: what you’re looking at

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

SOT ® Pi’ -# 7a% TS va sd By Fa Ys | cos G/ hee eh i uh ah LNT ARN Di Shenae ~~ oD AE ER Re eae TAO AT ae PAC LAS, Oe UPA Se Fae tT A 5, eh i). a eye Sas ANAL ba re 7. 4 . t ‘ j ~ “Oh, George, what—” “Y felt all the time I never belonged in a dump like this!” George beamed. “I got talent, all kinds of talent—” “Oh, George—” “Tt was that brought it all back to me,” George said, indicating the iron bowknot he had tied. He bowed grandly before her, the twisted steel confection extended for her approval. ‘I am an actor, Pat.” IV. _GrorcE pledged the girl to secrecy. -“ We'll show these towners!” he prom- ised, while Patricia glowed. this dump something to talk about. You wait and see! You're sure that show comes every year—”’ - ‘“Every May,” Patricia promised eager- ly. ‘And it’s swell, too—” “YVeah, a good show,” George agreed with patronizing air. ‘A pretty fair little outfit, though I’ve played with better. Why, I had ten weeks with Pantages cir-— But this will do. rh cuit, one winter! write ’em to-day, sure. And mind you, don’t spill a word, not a hint, kid—” “Cross my _ heart,” Patricia promised. “ George, I'd die before I let on one word! Oh, boy!” : George wrote his letter. In time an an- swer came. He let Patricia look at it one day when they were alone in the garage. It was on beautiful paper, the envelope and letter head embossed in four colors and gold. Its contents were entirely satisfac- tory. Later an express package came to George and was received by him without explana- tion and locked up in his little room. “That big bum is framing something on me,” Al McGurl confided to his family. ““He’s up to some devilment. Patricia, 1 bet you know—”’ “Why, father!” Patricia exclaimed, sud- denly dignified, “‘as if I had the slightest personal concern with the private affairs of - a mere roughneck like George!” McGurl thumped the dinner table for emphasis while he scowled on them all. “TH just say this,” he promised, “ and you = can tell it to George if you feel like it: Tf — “We'll give — George muttered. “1 =) lonesome in my life. that tramp figures he’s going to light out of here before he’s paid me every cent he owes, he’s got another guess coming. I can have © the law, if I’ve a mind to!” On a mild night of early April, Patricia found George sitting alone in the dusk on the bench before the garage door. was cupped in his hand and his cold pipe clenched between his teeth. George grunt- -ed scarcely audible answers to the girl’s conversation, staring straight ahead of him into the dusk, his face drawn with pain. ‘Patricia asked finally, ‘‘ George, what's the matter with you. Isn’t everything go- ing to be all right?” _-“Tt’s the damn frogs croaking that way,” ““T never heard anything Seems like I just can’t stand this hole another minute. I’ve got to go, Pat—” “Oh, you can’t!” Patricia whispered desperately. “ George, you wouldn’t run away now—and never let these towners — know who you are? You wouldn’t let them laugh at me all my life—” Ss awful!” George sieand= em not used to it. I was brought up in the show business, Pat—crowds of folks—a lot — of lights and noise—and bands playing—” He broke off as a freight whistled on the distant railroad grade, its mournful, mys- terious wailing singing to a vagrant heart of far places beyond the horizon of Mill- edge. “Oh, God!” George shuddered and cov- ered his face. Patricia clutched his arm as if to prevent flight. She pleaded eagerly, “‘ But you'll stay, won't your You're going to show these towners you’re somebody, aren’t you? You'll stay—for me?” “Tl stay,” George promised. bet we'll show them! But gosh, kid, you don’t know how hard it is when a man’s been in the show business all his life, used to the bright lights and all—an actor with talent buried in this little dump—’’ “Oh, don’t I? And I suppose you think — I like this little hole!” “Hunh!” said George, surprised at this new notion. “ Why, a8 always lived here, ~Pat—” “Tt’s nothing but a mud hole!” Patricia Eomichbooks:.co His chin - “You - Al