Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

re t 40 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. sion of the chapter he snapped _ the covers together with a bang, and every- body said “‘ Amen” in unison. Everybody but George, who was taken unaware. Therefore he spoke up and added his own amen after the rest. Sproul stamped upstairs to bed, his good night being a mere grunt. The hired man followed him. Jennie, who slept in an L off the kitchen, took her departure. And then George found himself alone with Ellen. “ How’s tricks?” he whispered, smiling ingratiatingly. She looked cautiously up the stairs, then stole to his side. “I guess he ain’t sus- picious. But you ain’t mean. You jest think you are. He isn’t going to mind you at all, once he gets used to seeing you around,” “Is that so?” George indignantly mut- tered. ‘“ You just wait till [ begin to work on him! Didn’t expect me to start nothing the very first night, before we was ac- quainted, did ye?” She shook her head, her eyes fixed quiz- zically on his, a curious and stealthy sort of mirth smoldering in their depths. Then she turned and from a shelf took a small kerosene lamp, which she lighted and hand- ed to him. ““T showed you where your room is. Can you find it by yourself? Second flight up, right at the head of the stairs. The chim- ney goes up through it, and you'll find it warm, There’s an extra quilt over the foot of the bed.” George nodded, took the lamp. “ Sure; I know my way. G’ night.” His room was large and square, with two small-paned windows looking over the back yard, now flooded with a cold white moon. Presently, having undressed, he clambered into the enormous four-poster, pulling up about his chin the thick quilt with its log- cabin pattern. He meant to review the events of the day; plan out his campaign for the mor- row. But the hearty supper, the hot open fireplace, the excitement of the past twelve hours, were too much for him. Barely five minutes after his head had sunk into the feather pillow he was sound asleep. The next thing he knew, some one was knocking at his door. ‘ Breakfast ready in five minutes, Mr. Willie!” It was Jennie calling him. ae Tuat day, and those immediately fol- lowing, were a trifle confusing to George Bangs. He was no fool; he possessed a considerable degree’ of cunning of a low order, and especially an ability to shift for himself without really doing any hard work. But his intellect was by no means no- table. Suddenly and extraordinarily he found himself thrust into a life for which he had had no training whatever. No longer was it necessary for him to resort to all sorts of devices to obtain the three meals and a bed which, together with some smoking tobacco and an occasional haircut, about comprised his physical needs. In one sense, he was living in clover. Not only was he getting more and better food than he had ever eaten in his life, and sleeping in as good a bed as the President of his country could boast, without the slightest worry as to obtaining the where- withal to pay for it, but he was actually receiving all this and fifteen dollars a week for doing what he preferred above every- thing else! All he had to do was to be his own mean self—and how often had he not felicitated himself on being the meanest man alive? Yet, now that all this was within his grasp, a strange paralysis seemed to have seized upon him. For the first time, he began to harbor secret doubts as to his own innate mean- ness; and, with these doubts, terror pos- sessed his soul. He was like the strong man who finds himself suddenly deserted by his muscles; like the adroit lawyer who at the most inopportune moment perceives that his memory of precedents has failed; or like a fortunate gambler who for the first time finds that his luck has left him, his hunches petered ‘out. * %