Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

DINNER FOR CYNTHIA. — This, surely enough, was a cowardly thing to do, as Cynthia realized presently. She stiffened up indignantly—and imme- diately relaxed again, casting a wary eye toward the door, yawning and assuming the posture of one about to remove a shoe. The muffled tread, however, was not com- ing from just that direction, Ah, yes, it was the door from the passage that opened now to admit Graves, who entered with a bright red spot on either cheek and a con- siderable gleam in her eye. ‘‘She—she thought she heard you mov- ing about; she’s just below here; and she rang for me,” the maid reported, not with- out difficulty. “‘ She said that maybe I hadn’t made you comfortable!” ‘Well ” Cynthia said drearily. “Well, if I hadn’t, I will now!” Graves replied quite dangerously. ‘‘ She told me to be sure that you were tucked up snug before I left you this time! Get into that bed.” re 4 | SK “Youll get in there, miss, or I’ll tell her the whole truth about how you were prowl- ing around—and once you do let her see just what you are, she'll get mad enough to surprise you!”’ snarled the maid, and ore saw that she was really a more determined woman than might have been suspected. “Ym not going to stay up all night for the likes of you! Get into that bed!” Shall it be admitted that Cynthia Blair. despite all the rights and privileges that were naturally hers, obeyed? It may just as Well be admitted, for this is precisely the program Cynthia followed, while Graves, hands on hips and thin nostrils dilated, 4092. waited and, doubtless, thought her own thoughts. Jerkily, then, she picked up Cynthia’s little garments, smoothing them with a sav- age, mechanical touch and then, after con- sidering them blackly for several seconds, laid them over her arm and— | ‘Here! Where are you going with my clothes?” Cynthia demanded and sat up in bed. The maid turned and smiled slightly, but quite humanly. Most of her rage had de- parted. “I’m merely going to hang them on the ~ forms, miss,” she said, courteously enough. “You don’t object to that? They'll get all wrinkled if they’re left lying about.” ‘‘T—no, of course not,” Cynthia sighed. She sank back again. The maid moved on, without haste, in the general direction of the forms, which were visible through the partly open door of the closet. But at a certain point just mid- way between this door and the one by which she had arrived, Graves turned and favored Miss Blair with one lightning glance. An instant, she seemed to poise on tip- toes; then she leaped, with much the effect of a leopard bounding down upon its prey. The leap deposited her in the very passage itself, too, clothes and all; and now she whisked about and peered at Cynthia, through the swiftly closing portal, her thin features ablaze with malevolent triumph! ‘““ There!” hissed Graves. ‘‘ Vow we'll see how far you get with the silverware while honest folks are sleeping, you little hussy!”’ And the latch clicked and, at once, the key turned on the far side! TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK 16) Le) Le} APPLE BLOSSOMS IN NEW YORK "THE bashful buds upon the tree Shrink and look down, They’re really half ashamed to be Seen here in town. They know that they are out of place— T see a blush on each one’s face! Jean Strong. O Eomicbooks. co