Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 7, 1925 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

640 He allowed himself the luxury of a mo- ment alone on that bench before the garage where he had sat so many lonely nights, hating the frogs’ chorus. Something sniffled in the darkness and tried to slip away. George caught a thin wrist and clung to it while the girl struggled like a wild thing. “Pat!” he exclaimed. “Why, kid, T came to tell you good-by, and I dam near missed seeing you! Listen, Patsy, promise you won’t forget me—”’ “I will!” she whispered venomously. “Til be coming back, you know! Jl make it a point to join out with this show next spring—just to see you again—” “You won’t find me here! Think I’m going to sit on this bench waitmg—waiting all my life—listening to those d-damn frogs. I will not. And 1 hope I never see you again—” “Why, kid!” George exclaimed. hae “Why, Pat—” “Tet go of me! Let me go. Go on, you'll miss your train!” She “fluttered in his grasp, her face averted. “Go away,” she choked, “I despise you — despise y ou—.- George Kay slipped an arm about her THE oj OU are not mine. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. shoulders, holding her fast, turning her face toward him. His free hand found and lighted amatch. He held it up, staring into her eyes. “ Good Lord!” he said shakily. Lord, Patsy!” Something had happened In those few minutes, some enchantment of the night, an enchantment that made his own butter- fly transformation a cheap and tawdry showman’s trick. It was not the funny, freckle nosed, colt- like girl George Kay saw. The face was “ Good Patricia’s, but another Patricia—a woman grown—with a woman’s capacity to love and sorrow showing through those ae eyes. “ Kid,” George whispered shakily, “I know! We love each other, that’s it! You'll come with me?” _ - Patricia pressed her face against his shoulder, bunting him with her head. <4 Yes. 33 “ Then hustle like the devil!” George cried. “We got to tell your folks and beat it for that train. Minister to-morrow, next town we make. And Pat! What an act we'll do together, you and me!” END v v YOU ARE NOT MINE The sea with all its mournful Gay might, belongs not te the waiting shores. You are not mine, oh, insolent and scornful, You are not mine—but I—oh, I am yours! Mary Carolyn Davtes. WINDOW. SHADE FABRICS. 10 A Comicbooks:co