Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

562 no folks. I would merely let the big city swallow me up like a hippopotamus would a little liver pill. Whatever happened to me would be all right. There was nobody to care. I had meant to leave long before Roy got home, but what with packing and get- ting his supper and all, it was a quarter to six when I jammed down the last full suit- case and buckled the strap. Come a sudden honk over the back lots —Roy’s honk, from force of habit. I al- most expected to feel a sudden streak flash by me, out to meet him. Then I realized none would come. Roy, too, would soon be realizing it. He had forgotten, I guess, that there was no- body now to meet him. Nobody! With a sudden resolution, and almost before I knew what I was doing, I was at the back door, rushing right into nore arms as he come in. “Roy!” I sobbed. “Oh, Roy!” Them arms tightened. THE ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Why, Molly!” he exclaimed, gentle and surprised. I hugged him frantic, blubbering on his shoulder. “You see—I—TI come to meet you,” I choked, inane. “Yes, dear.” “ Not that I could take His place,” I add- ed, lifting my head, stiff and proud again, “seeing as how you loved — him — more than—me.” Roy laughed, though there was a sob in his voice. “You silly baby,” he soothed. “ Love that poor little mutt more than you, dear? I guess not. It was just ’—here his voice became wistful— just that I kind of want- ed somebody to make a fuss over me. That’s all.” 3 Make a fuss over him! Say, I learned my lesson. Men are all alike. They’re only a bunch of babies grown up, and have got to have their pet- ting. Buster showed me the way. END An election takes place in which every nominee is a dead man—in “ The Return of George Washington,” by George F. Worts, starting in Argosy-Allstory, October 15th. U Lv} Le) THE PROBLEM | lies on my desk like a flower, A missive so dainty and blue, Asking return of a photo, And signed, ‘“ Yours forevermore, Sue.”’ Did she think, as she penned it, I wonder, Of nights by a murmuring sea, Or the joys of a magical summer That letter would bring back to me? She’s going to marry, she tells me; Her heart is a woman’s—oh, quite! Forgetting one man for another Before the first’s well out of sight. Of course I shall heed her petition— It is all I can decently do; But—I collected five photos last summer, And which to the devil zs Sue? Agnes Pearson. comichbook G (EO) me