Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 7, 1925 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

les x Livan 8 SAR RY ¢ S aie “s das OIL TRA WK Ol PT at A yeaa } eu { =e “ « Eve been thinking so io of crossing this river as—as Mrs. Andrew R. Gibbons that —that I just can’t bear to eross it vias Elsie C- Corbett. aa ___--_—-“ Not ‘plain’ Elsie Corbett,” he con- -__tradicted, vehement.” Beautiful, ‘sweet, mondertal Elsie Corbett—” His voice broke, “ And she ain’t mine,” he finished. The gang was hot on our trail, hurling Jast minute advice. — -- We’ve got to board this boat!” hissed : Andy in my ear. | “Or they “Il think some- -thing’s funny.” “Funny?” I chortled. to locate the humor.” -I hung back, but Andy hooked my hand ‘and hauled me across the border line. Folks ‘jammed in after us and pressed us on through. Andy was turning to wave fare- “Ha, ha! _ well to the gang, In a flash I ducked and _ Yun through the crowd up the stairs of the 7 Chains were creaking and the whis- beat. ‘tle tooted as I bust forth on the upper plat- form and made for the gangplank. I crossed it and they pulled it up. Andy was be- hind me, across the moat—his face white. = “Andy! ”” I shrieked, hysterical. a Come, _ Andy, come!” There was a chuming beneath us, the clang of two bells, and the big crab left the pier, snubbing against loose piles as it went. — “ Andy!” E-screamed. He stumbled toward me, then jumped. Across the churn of white foam he leaped -like an agonized goat and clung to the out-— side of the iron gate. “Damn fool!” growled the gateman, let- ting him in. “ You ought to be pinched for that.” | He wasn’t pinched but squeezed—my own, brave Andy! Then we sobered down. “ Now what?” he inquired. CHAPTER IV. ADRIFT IN THE CITY. ““F DON’T know,” I answered, hard up for an idea for once in my resource- ful young life. “TJ guess you’d better go home for the night,” he told me. be a snowy ARGOSY- AELSTORY WEEKLY. I turned: on — like a tiger cat. * Andrew Gibbons, ” ¥ hissed, “ i would rather die!” se Well, , anyhow ” he proposed, “ let’s get = welt. It was a dinky little spaghetti place with a potted palm in a brass bowl decorating the front winc yw, and there was an atmos- phere of moldy bread sticks. Andy or- dered the bohunk waiter to unravel him a couple of yards of spaghetti ¢ Ja Garibaldi, | then asked me what I wanted. eS Nothing much,’ I told him, indifferent. “ Aw, come on, » he ‘begged. “T know you’re hie “Kin’t you a woman?” “Well,” I allowed myself to be influ- enced, = suppose you have ’em trot me out some of that there boiled turkey wings with curry of rice—” _“ Flurry of rice is more like it,” he broke in, blushing, while the waiter erinned. In delving. into his breast. pocket for the lav- ender hanky he had produced a snowstorm of well-known bridal copfetli. a - Souvenir of the crowd’s send-off. : ‘They brung on the food. AndI PhobERL as IT tried to. choke it down, what a won- > derful ‘dinner we would be havin if Fate had— kept a certain guy we’d never seen before and would never see again only ten minutes longer in his offce. We’d be on the train this minute, watching night pour over the Jersey meadows, and there would - white tablecloth between us, all ashine with elegant glass and silver, and a respectful waiter in a dress suit would be bowing double and asking Andy, “ Does Mrs. Gibbons care for a bit of creamed chicken en casteroil or would Mrs. Gibbons prefer some clams @ la Be neck with horse- radish?” | But I didn’t say nothing of these thoughts to Andy. I was learning that men don’t understand things the way us women do. It seems that God gives us dames a special passport to a land of dreams where the men folks can’t follow—only stand waiting at the gate for us to come back to em. Then we danced to the wheeze of a cou- ple of fiddles and a tin-lined piano, played by a long-haired Romeo with a cold cig- Oe co EComicboo