Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 7, 1925 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

NORTH STAR. There was such comforting refuge in the abstract. For a terrifying instant she had firmly believed that he was about to say Dickie Robbins. With a thoughtful frown she unclasped the diamond bracelet from her wrist. It was worth eighteen thousand dollars. “ Here,” she said, “ take this. Our name is Gale—Wilbur and Marcia Gale. We live on Fifth Avenue. You'll find us in the reg- ister.” Her last impression of the old fool was the glittering pin-points in his eyes. They rivaled the brilliants that lay unheeded in his hand. Lebombard did not move until he had seen her join her brother—until he had seen her brother, herself, and North Star start breaking a way through the crowd. The brother turned and looked back. Michael bowed. From North Star there had been no sign. It was so, Lebombard thought as he went inside the cabin and closed and bolted its door, that one felt at a death. In his heart there was no anger or lack of understanding at the going of North Star. There was nothing there at all. It had been drained of all feeling as if by a great pump. It was not that North Star loved him less or the other more. It was because North Star held an equal affection for both. And Michael Lebombard knew what had tipped the balance of the scales. It was service, North Star ee that he was needed—that this new, suddenly beloved stranger who had come into his life needed him, his protection, his love, his care. That old daddy Lebombard should need protec- tion or care was a something at which to laugh. Michael had been a dispenser of those very commodities ever since North Star had been born. How could North Star know that though he did not need them at all, he wanted them so very, very much? He did not even con- sider the luxury of tears. He had never cried in all his life. He was ignorant of their rich solace. But one relief Michael Taonubard did permit himself. He took the diamond bracelet in his thin strong hands and rent it link from link. Then, later, he sealed it in a package and mailed it to Marcia. That would convince her, of a certainty, that there had been no sale. CHAPTER V. THE MASKING COLUMN. ARCIA did not come near enough to _ Dickie Robbins on the way out with her brother and North Star to speak to him. They were by the elevators when she saw him. He was standing at the farther side of the broad foyer by a column. Hot waves of resentment went through her as she remembered the wording of her broth- er’s criticism. Swine. She could have cried as the word disseminated its poison within her—or killed. Robbins, she could see, was taiking with some one who was stand- ing behind the column. She watched the impassive strength of his face. She had heard it called animalistic and sensual. She seized the fictitious com- fort that such was the hackneyed term be- stowed upon most muscular men by some weaklings and by ali disappointed women. She felt the blood surge warmly to her cheeks as she remembered the pressure of his hand the last time they had met. There had been meditation in the pressure, and reserve—a reserve that had hinted at ~ crushing strengths that had been held in leash, somehow, by the mastery of her eyes. She rather wished he would not use perfume. Who was he talking with? She would see him again at the Petersens’ dance Thursday. She would explain about to- night; her brother, the dog, her own split- ting head. And she would feel again the meditated pressure of his hand—a reserve only too clearly unmasked by the sultry passions in his eyes. He was strong. He was a man, not an angel. She was proudly glad that he was not an angel. In the secret fastness of her heart lay the intent to make him one herself. What if he did use scents? Lots of men used them—prize fighttrs did. What was his family? No one knew. And she didn’t care. There were no class lines on earth a : wee R ‘ Lo yin on ‘493 Gomicbooks (E©)