Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

THE DEVIL’S FLOWER. off Berryman, the State constabulary chap who comes through here every week. They’re still up there, for this is the only way out.” I wondered if these were the visitors of whom Robinson had complained. My baggage man had told all he knew, and a little he didn’t, I thought, for he was silent until a woebegone truck toiled up the hill to the station. “ Hello, Limpy, passenger for you. Traveling man for some casket maker, I guess,” he chuckled; “but I couldn’t get much out of him.” “ Guess you did all the talking, Windy,” said the driver, who, true to his nickname, climbed down from his seat with a lame right leg and helped me with my stuff. I climbed in beside him and we started down the only road leading from the sta- tion leaving the railroad attaché speechless, from either rage or empty mindedness. “T’m not going to town,” I told Limpy, “but bound out to visit Mr. Malcolm Robinson.” ‘Oh, the old professor,” he said. ‘‘ Pretty lonely out that-away.” “Our loquacious baggage man told mé you took four men camping out on Con- cord Lake,” I ventured. “Oh, him,” Limpy said scornfully, “‘ he’s got St. Vitus dance of the tongue, just can’t keep still. Yea, I bring supplies out to those fellows. None of my business though.” “ None of mine either,” I chimed in. “Tf you gab a minute with Windy he has a string of lies an hour long to tell the next one who is foolish enough to listen.” “Do we pass through town to go out to the lake?” “ Ves, it’s all one road,’ he said. We relapsed into silence, rumbling along in that creaky machine on that rutty, clayey highway. It was a good stretch of a mile before we jogged through Beech- wood, a nondescript village that had evi- dently seen better days. “ There used to be a big factory here in town,” said Limpy, ‘“‘ but it moved away.” He spoke in the tone of voice of one repeating an oft told tale. “ You read my thoughts,” I assured him, “No, but everybody asks questions, so 599 I answer them before hand,’ he replied slyly, with the air of putting one over on the city fellow. “Do you want to stop for anything?” ““Not now. How far is the lake?” “Some say four miles, others five. I call it six, but I charge two dollars anyway.” I laughed, much amused at my driver. He acted on the defensive, as though some one had once put something over on him and he was afraid it might happen again. But he was quite as chatty as his friend Windy. “Going to visit the old: professor, eh? Nice old fellow. Gets more mail, maga- zines, and parcels, then the rest of the coun- ty put together. Foreign stamps on some. He gives ’em to me for my kid, who’s col- lecting. They say he has money, eh?” I shrugged my shoulders. Doubtless I would be the next up for discussion. Rural gossips are so starved for new material. Uphill and down dale we rode, now and again passing an unpainted farmhouse with a barn that appeared too large for it, and a few forlorn cows. At times there were long vistas of unplowed field and meadow land once cultivated, and then second growth timber screened the way of either side of the road. 3 Not so much a wild as neglected, de- Serted countryside, was the impression con- veyed to me. Some areas of the State not as beautiful as these stretches of undulat- ing land were busy farm districts; whether from remoteness or lack of fertility this empty country was being allowed to go back to seed, and a lonely rejected aspect clung to it. We rode and rode, until my guess would have been that we had covered upward of five miles. ‘“ Are we nearly there, Limpy?” I asked the abstracted driver at my side. “Yes, boss, you can see the gleam of the lake over yonder.” , I followed his pointing finger, and, sure enough, from the hill we had just topped IT could see a considerable body of water, for an instant, sparkling in the sunlight. _ ‘“Summer vacationers come up here later on,” he remarked. ‘‘ You can see their VDOOKS AAI (E@) (EO)