Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

THE DEVIL’S FLOWER. Perhaps the father and son had some- thing to say to one another that they did not wish me to hear? Without a word I went upstairs to the room where my stuff had been carried, and unpacked the little emergency kit I had procured at the same hour I’d followed Colonel Chalmers’s advice and stocked up on books and tobacco. But when I returned with the bromide tablets young Robinson was still lying in the same position on the davenport, and the father sitting with his head buried in his hands, holding a pose that spelled dejection. To break the spell I asked him for a glass of water. He came slowly to his feet and went into the next room. Young Robinson gazed at me entirely without expression, but when [ lifted him up to take the nerve sedative he snatched at the pills and took the glass of water from his father’s hand, drinking it thirstily. He was breathing easily now, and I wasn’t really worried about him. Black sheep, I have noticed, have tough hides! And it was hard to sympathize with him when considering the care and tor- ment he had been to his parent. “How did you get over from the main- land, my boy?” asked the old man. “ Broke into a boathouse and dragged out a canoe and paddle,” he replied sul- lenly, relaxing to a prone position. “T know the owner, it’s all right. There was no boat of yours on shore. didn’t want me back.” “My son, how can you suggest such a thing? You are always welcome here. Our boat was used by Dr. Warner, who has just joined me,” said the scientist. I thought it best to try to put a pleasant face on the bargain. “Tl move my belongings from your room,” I said cordially. “‘ You know you weren’t expected.” “ No, and I wouldn’t have come back of { hadn’t been refused a deck of dope every- where, and spent all my money,” he flung out. His father turned to him with an air of severity. “T am elad of it,” he exclaimed, ‘“ but you must have brought it on yourself by { guess you 603 betraying, to some one connected with the ring, the work I am on, striving to strike at the root of the evil that sprang from the land of the dragon. They know, and no one could have told—but you! Now they’ve sent you back here to harry me— though God knows you will not change by a particle my heaven sent purpose!” Young Robinson lay silent, neither af- firming nor denying, thin lips set in some sinister determination. I wished I had not been present; un- pleasant to feel the very air vibrant with discord between father and son. Sam Bigelow broke the strained atmos- phere, entering from the kitchen. He merely glanced at the figure on the davenport. ‘“ Hello, Peter,” he said briefly, and with- out interest “you back, I ‘see. Well, supper is served. I'll set another plate.” He disappeared, and the old man laughed grimly. “YT don’t think Satan himself would sur- prise Sam. Nothing ever gets a rise out of him. Dr. Warner, let me conduct you in to supper,” he said politely. The light had been dying softly and Sam lighted a big kerosene lamp as we entered the kitchen, Peter dragging on behind. The table was laid out simply with cold cuts and bread and tea, and I ate with an ex- cellent appetite. After serving the food Sam joined us. I never did get the exact status of his position, somewhere between that of a servant and a companion. Robinson tried to make conversation by asking me about my trip, but I didn’t arouse much amusement with the account of my talks with Limpy and Windy, so I cut it short. I didn’t know whether or not Peter was aware that his father had appealed to the Federal Narcotic Department for a man, so I kept that fact to myself, Sam, however, was talkative enough. He told how one of the campers had come out in the roadway and waved to him on his way in to get the mail, but he hadn’t paid any attention, so he didn’t know whether they wished him to stop for a message or not. “They have some newfangled collaps- ible boat, looks like a tin tub,” he. con- Gomichbooks (E@)