Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

156 chased through her brain, making her see things in an entirely new light. She remembered the day she had first made eclairs. Not so long ago either. It had taken practically all afternoon. She had mixed them carefully and baked them in breathless silence. When they came from the oven, all nicely puffed and brown, she had split and filled them with whipped cream mixed with fruit and nuts. Then a professional coating of chocolate had given a finishing touch. She brought them on for dessert and proudly but silently served them, conscious that she had achieved a masterpiece. Keith would wonder where she had connected with such wonderful delicacies unless she had brought them out from the city. At last, unable to stand his silence any longer, she had remarked, quite casually: “Not bad, are they?” Keith had looked up absentmindedly: “* What?—oh, these—the cream isn’t a bit sour, is it?” It was a blow. But now, looking at it from the other side, perhaps she had been as big a failure as her unresponsive husband. Now she came to think of it, she distinct- ly remembered that that very same night Keith had pushed back his chair from the table with an exhausted sigh. His remark that he had gone through a nerve racking ordeal at the office she had stubbornly re- fused to follow up. If he wasn’t interested in her household affairs, why should she show interest in his business? Now, after a day away from household cares, her, attitude seemed pitifully small. That Keith had been as anxious for sym- pathy from her as she was for sympathy from him had been lost sight of in fierce resentment. And his work was real and serious, while hers was merely a fad. And, being honest with herself, she was suddenly very humble. Why, any poor dub could cook. An idiot could follow a few rules and achieve satis- factory results. Just because it had all been new to her she thought she was doing some- thing ——— es a cnerce® BS women were Ane it as a ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. have sulked and grown peevish because Keith had not placed a laurel wreath on her brow when she made up bed in some princely fashion. Having once begun, she did not spare herself. All she asked of fate was to give her another chance. She quickened her pace. She was now in a fever to get home. Instead of French fried potatoes served with a gloomy frown, she could hardly wait to try the result of plain boiled ones offered with a merry smile. It was growing dark as she came in sight of the house. Greatly to her surprise, it stood a black shadow in the gathering gloom. No welcoming light shone from it anywhere. | Peggy knew she was late. Keith should have reached home quite some time earlier. As she drew near she looked for his car where he always parked it. But it was no- where along the curb. This was strangey~ he never put it in the garage till after dinner. Architect for a big concern in the city, he was busy just now overseeing the recon- struction of a large country house two miles farther out in the country. There were also several houses he had planned now going up on the main street of their town. He usually visited one or the -other—some- times both of the places—after eating his dinner. Carefully leaving Keith his usual park- ing space, Peggy jumped from her new’ roadster and hastened up the path to the house. A sudden feeling of fear began tugging at her heart. Why was Keith’s car missing from its customary place? Why was the house so dark and grim? She was afraid to answer these questions. She put out a hand to steady herself after turning the key in the lock. Tit. Prccy was all alone in the world, with the exception of very distant cousins. Grandmother Yarnal had been the last of her immediate family. If Keith were—she Oi et es Bieta Soe