Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 7, 1925 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

510 “All right,” he smiled, “ but this is the last chance I'll have to kiss—Elsie Cor- bett.” I give in. Then we walked to the door that led to the new life. It was locked. CHAPTER ITI. DELAY. AMN!” said Andy, smothered. We knocked. No one come. The joint was as deserted as the Polo Grounds after a World Series game. ‘““Maybe it’s the wrong door,” I sug- gested, a cold chill gripping me. ‘Well, it’s the right number,” he insisted. _ He knocked again and the sound scam- pered down the dim hall, racing back to us with an echo like a laugh. “Nobody home,” he announced, remov- ing his hat, perplexed. We stood there, desolate as though St. Peter had barred: us from the gates of heaven. Then, through the gray light, come a little old man that did look like St. Peter himself, though he trailed a broom instead of a harp. : “Listen, uncle,” spoke up Andy, breezy, “where’s all the folks?” The old man wedged his broom between his shaky knees and excavated a gold watch as big as a cabbage. “Ten after five,” he mumbled. must of gone home.” “Now, listen,” blustered Andy, ‘“ don’t tell me that. We just come up from down- stairs with a certificate and want to get married. See?’ “They’s nothing wrong with my eye- sight at all,” remarked the fellow, soft- voiced but facetious. ; “Come off it, uncle,” growled Andy, for- midable. “I ain’t looking for humor. I want to get married.” “ No, they @in’t much connection between em,” muttered Old Walrus without split- ting a smile. “They “Say, are you kidding me?” bellowed my prospecting husband. “ Ain’t you able to wedgé it into your bean that me and the lady has serious intentions of commit- ting immediate matrimony?” -- ~ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “In the city of New York during the last year,” answered the guy, quoting stat- istics, “ they has been sixty thousand like you. One more or less don’t make no dif- ference. I see em coming—T See ‘em go- ing—it’s all the same to me—” He turned to go, but Andy snatched him savage by his hike ravenlike shoulders. “Tisten, uncle,” he begged, “ talk sense. We got = get miaeried right away. Now, where’s the party that “ll do it?” | “Ym telling you they’ve gone home,” repeated old Father William, weary. ‘“‘ You better come to-morrow.” “ To-morrow!” echoed Andy in the voice a condemned man would use on his last day—and “ to-morrow!” I chorused, weak. I took his arm and we retraced, silent, stunned. And as we come out from under the grim gray arch a battery of laughing voices bombarded us with: ‘Here comes the bride—who shaved the groom?” It was the gang. In a minute the enemy Surrounded us. Andy and I was parted like a haircut. Rice pelted us like hail and every time I would stoop to dodge it, the girls would pour it down my neck. Then the party got wild. The boys had captured Andy, using his right hand for a pump and his shoulder blades for drums, the while raining loud whispers in his ears that turned them red. “Remember,” teased Bob Beaver, you're naming fhe first after me!” “ Sure, sure,” promised Andy, bashful, ducking a good-natured biff in the beezer. “Tf it’s a boy it’s Robert—if a girl Rob- erta.”’ , I shook off a storm of congratulating kisses from my well-meaning women friends and glared. Hartman Brooks was smiling at me, simpish. “Well, he won you, Elsie, fair and square,” he commented, rueful, “but I suess I can take my medicine.” “What kind?” I snapped, sarcastic. ‘ Arsenic or little liver pills?” Our party was attracting attention. Folks stood on the corner and beamed at us benevolent. One of the girls had inserted a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley into my un- conscious claw, so my estate was immis- takable. Eomicboo <s) co