Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

470 We sped the bridal pair, shy and happy, on their honeymoon, my lips remaining sealed about the wife’s past—rent. There was time to talk of that when they come back, ready for the drab realities of life and living. With a glow of satisfaction and duty well done, I climbed the stairs to my attic hovel. It was a long time since I’d had the chance to sit and view them postcards of the trail. On the way up the stairs a skinny figure inserted itself in my dream and a wistful face loomed white before me. It was little Miss Meeker, coming down and toting a black bag. “ Mr. McGuire,” she commenced, flur- ried, “ I want to settle about the rent now. I—I’m going to-day.” “Going?” I repeated in wonderment. “ Why, ma’am?” Her lip fluttered like a little sparrow taking a dirt bath. “It’s not that I want to,” she said, finally. “Then what’s the grand idea?” I in- quired, a queer feeling gripping me. “ Tt’s—Oh, I just can’t tell you,” she blurted, near crying. “Go on, ma’am,” I urged, gentle. “Tt’s just,” she hesitated, sucking her lip under to steady it, “ just that they’re— talking.” “ Who’s talking?” “Folks in this house.” ‘Well, what are they talking about? Tell me, ma’am.”’ : She looked away, answering low and tremulous, ‘‘ You and—me.”’ “Huh! And what are they saying?” “Qh, nothing—except that they hint— about us—talking secret on the stairs. They say we have a—understanding.” “Which is more than some dumb peo- ple,” { muttered, hot. “So I’ve got to go,” she concluded, sor- rowful. Pity and something else that was warm Swept over me. “You ain’t going to go, ma’am,” I told her, firm. ‘ You’re going to stay just as long as you want.” “ But they'll keep on talking about me,” she protested, mournful. THE ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, “Well,” said I, reckless and sudden, “ I guess they wouldn’t talk about Mrs. Wil- liam O. McGuire, would they, huh?” Wonderment come over them lean and lemony features, making them rosy, “Oh!” she said. ‘ Oh-h.” “T guess the young folks ain’t got basic patents on this here romance business, have they?” I asked, cocky, as we sat, holding hands, after a couple minutes of silence. “No,” she breathed. ‘Ob, no. And oh, Mr. McGuire, can I—we—have that big front suite of Mrs. Beamish’s?” “Sure, you can have it!” I grinned, in- wardly groaning. My best paying suite! VIL. Anp so I took a second wife to comfort me in my old age. Stanley and my new niece sailed in just after we was married. No sooner was the greetings over when my bright young nephew said affectionate, one hand upon my shoulder, chummy-like, and the other around his bride’s waist, “Unk, we’ve decided something.” “ What?” I asked, hopeful. Now for Frankie’s back rent. “We've decided we'll stay here, if you want us. You're getting old, unk, and lonely, and all—” He didn’t know yet about Miss Meeker—‘ and we think that some of your own folks ought to be with you. Besides Frankie doesn’t want to set up housekeeping yet. She’s going to finish that song.” “Oh,” I intoned. “So we'll just park here awhile, if you want us,” he continued, cheery. ‘“ But, unk,’’ he added, lower, “‘ I ought to tell you it’ll be pretty hard sledding for me at first. I’m going to work. Frankie’s making me. Said she won’t touch a cent of my dad’s filthy lucre. So I’m afraid we can’t pay you much rent at the start.” “ That’s all right,” I smiled, wan. “ It’s worth a million, kid, having your own folks around you.” That’s what I told ’em. But sometimes I wonder, in the spring- time, how the breakfast bacon’d taste out on the trail. END EO DOOL< (c©)