Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

os he cS 4 = a A =r Ns = ae >: = . a a we » = Pan ie oe THE MEANEST father when he was a baby, too little to sit otherwise at table, and later on it fell to brother Willie.” And there the matter was dropped, and would have been forgotten. But it chanced that one day Ellen was up at the village, the “ Four Corners,” as it was spoken of by the natives, shopping at the general store, and Ernest was, as usual, half awake and half asleep before the fireplace. There came a knock on the door, and George answered it. A stranger stood there, his flivver beside the gate. “Any old antiques, hooked rugs, glass, chairs, four-posters, or what-have-you, ly- ing round the place?” he asked. “I buy and sell ’em.” “Dunno,” George answered. “ Ellen— my sister—ain’t in just now. She’s the only one knows anything about that.” A sudden memory knocked at his mind, he looked the man up and down, decided that he was not a cheat, and that he looked prosperous, “ There’s one thing, though,” he added. “YT got an old high chair I used when I was a kid: and so did my old man. And his, before him.” He added this to make it sound more impressive. “Lemme see it,” the buyer said. “ All right; I’ fetch it,’ George agreed. The purchaser of antiques looked it over inch by inch, and saw that it was a very perfect specimen, and probably about eighty years old. It had a rush bottom, some of the original decorations on the back, gilded apples and pears, against broad leaves— grape, probably—and in no way had it ever been mended or restored. “ Give you fifteen for it,” he said briskly. “ Dollars?” “Sure! What you think, cents?” Three dirty five dollar bills changed hands; the man picked up the little old chair and started back to his car. All would have been well; in any case, Ellen would likely not have missed it for months, if ever. But unfortunately, at this moment she rounded the turn in the road, saw a stran- ger who seemed to be carrying something in his arms from her gate, and, knowing - that her house was full of untrustworthy men, te own ‘husband, her eke ie - — Sat x , = : noe = eee ee ee ee win re - eS Nan Sr I Se ee * 2 @ I se a W oe = > - ae wy ae pa ee oe c ea ne, Dif a, Ed e = MAN. AT brother, the doddering old Jake, she quick- ened her step, and arrived just as the man was hoisting the chair aboard his car. ‘What’s that? What you got there?” she panted. The man turned leisurely, surveyed her with a slow smile. “Why, I just bought this high chair, ma’am. You live here? Well, your brother sold me the chair he used to sit in at his meals. Fifteen dollars I give him for it.” Ellen glared at him, and then at George. “You take that chair right out, this min- ute! It belongs to me! He’s no right to sell a thing from this house.” The man did not seem to be disturbed. He leaned easily against his car, surveyed the angry woman with tolerant eyes. “ Well, he says it was his own chair, ma’am. You’re his sister, ain’t you?” Ellen hesitated, feeling herself caught. “Yes, I am!” she snapped. “ But this farm and house and all it contains was left to me by my father, in his will. And so that chair is mine, too!” “You said you and me was joint owners of the place and all father left.” spoke in an injured voice. Ellen glared anew at him, and her hands trembled. “ Ill have the law on you both if you don’t hand over that chair right now!” The buyer was still tranquil. Years of adventures with owners of antiques, real and faked, had given him poise. “‘ Well, under the circumstances, and not wantin’ to create any ill feelings between brother and sister, you can have it back— at a fair profit for my time and trouble. I aim to double when [ sell anything. If I pay fifteen, I ask thirty. But I won’t hag- gle with you, ma’am. Give me twenty, and the chair returns to the house. That is only five dollars , hardly enough to pay for the trouble driving "way out to this God- forsaken place.” In the end Ellen handed over the twenty dollars, and the man drove off, but she had no little trouble making George disgorge the fifteen he had received. He was sulky, almost arrogant about it. That night, after she had bathed Ernest’s inflamed face and hands, and seen him to George