Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

PRISONERS “ She’s worse than an old adhesive,” I complained, ‘“ sticking to a sore spot after it ain’t needed.” “Ves,” sniffed Miss Meeker. ‘“ And there’s only one way now to make her go. Get er on a sore spot.” “Has she any?” “She has. I’m sure of it. It’s her French. If that should be questioned, she would be so mortified she would have to go. 9 “Ts there anything wrong with it—her French?” I inquired, hopeful. ‘“T’m not certain, but I think so. That is not one of the subjects I teach, but | think I know just enough about it to be skeptical about some of her pronunciation. I’ve brought a small French dictionary from school this afternoon and we can as- certain.” “Let me at it!” I exulted. “Tt’s in my room,” she hesitated. youll just come to the door—” T went, grabbing the book, greedy, and parking against the sill, while she looked over my shoulder. ‘““Vep,” I whispered, triumphant, ‘“ Here are a couple of her pet expressions right here. Faux pas, for instance. And she don’t pronounce ’em just right. Bounding butfaloes, wait till the next time she pulls one!” ~ Miss Meeker smiled so chummy and con- fiding I could have hugged her. “Youre a wonder, ma’am,” I compli- mented, and fled from her bright blush. ou V. DINNER that night started well with anchovy toast, a purée de printemps, filet de mignon, salade de macedoine and a méringue glace. Every course was a com- plete surprise to the boarders, a couple of traveling salesmen making bets as to the meaning of the words. | Caroline Beamish was spokeswoman for the party, interpreting the menu to them that ate in darkness with a condescension that would have humbled a duchess. “We used to have these same filets at the little Cabaret de Beaux Arts,” she ex- plained, smiling affable. ‘‘ Maud doesn’t OF DEBT. 469 remember, not being on that trip with me, but perhaps you recall that dear little place, Stanley?” “T don’t think so,” he gulped, trying to soften Frankie’s hard hearted stare. ‘Oh, but you must!” she chortled. ““ Any one who’s been to Paris without stopping there commits a terrible fox “pass.” I almost swallowed a whole méringue in my triumph. “There you’re wrong, ma’am!” I an- nounced, cracking the flat of my hand on the table top with a snap that made the boarders stare. It ain’t fox pass. No, sir! You’re completely loco. It’s faux pas.” “What!” she shrieked, taken aback, then recovered her customary cool poise. “T didn’t know you were a French stu- dent,” she added, withering me with a look. “Tm not. But I savvy enough to recog- nize them that also ain’t.” “What do you mean by asked, cold and steely. ‘Draw your own contusions, ma’am,” I smiled, mockingly humble. The table tittered. The widow crumpled her napkin. ‘“ Maud,” she breathed, tense, ‘ come, please,” and rose from the table like Venus from the sea. She left the next morning before break- fast, neglecting to pay the back rent. It was peace—at a great price. Two days later, Frankie and my dear nephew emerged from the park with the announcement that they was an engaged couple. I sighed with relief, pressing Miss Meeker’s little skinny hand in a glow of comradeship. ‘Sick semper aristocrats,” I triumphed. “ Exit the ambitious ma to pastures new and fertile, dragging her Maudie behind her. Enter the happy pair. Ain’t love grand, ma’am?”’ “Yes,” said she, blushing. that?” she VI. I cAvE the bride away, using my best parlors for the purpose, and the chef served the wedding guests a real nice little light lunch for the extra consideration of two hundred joy jujubes. | * COPMICLIOO <S com