Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 12, 1927 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

496 I’m not butting; I’m batting for the little gypsy girl here. If Miss Calder wants a fortune teller, why not let her have the best obtainable? Nothing too good for her, is there? Well, here I am.” The cool audacity of it took the sheriff’s breath away for a moment. “ You—” he choked. But Ilsa Calder leaned forward eagerly, her eyes shining. “You are a gypsy, too?” she questioned. “You can really tell my fortune?” “ Ask the girl yonder.” He nodded over his shoulder to Natushka. “ Tell her who I am,” he added nm Romany. “Tt is true what he says, lady,” she mut- tered sullenly. ‘‘ He can tell your fortune better than I. Why not? He is of the seed of Queen Bella, greatest prophetess of our people. All of her descendants shave the gift. They see the future better than we others.” “Oh, what gorgeous luck!” Ilsa cried excitedly. ‘Surely, sheriff, you wouldn’t try to deprive me of such a wonderful chance?” What could poor Daggett do in the face of that? He was ready to bite nails, but one would never have guessed it from his impassive face. “Anything you want in Quoonah is yours, little lady,” he said with stiff gal- lantry. “Same way, if you’d ask for his hide nailed to a board.” The accompanist, meanwhile, his face distorted with rage, was mumbling expostu- lations in her ear; but she paid scant heed to him. “Oh, keep still, Luigi!” She tossed her head petulantly. ‘It’s only a bit of harm- less amusement; and if the gentleman is willing to gratify my curiosity, why should I refuse? “Are you ready?” Mickey. “ Cross my palm with silver.” He held out his hand to her once more; but when she dropped the coins she held into it, he counted out the amount from his own pocket and passed it over to Natushka, re- taining for himself what had been given him. “These,” he jingled the money in his She turned to ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. palm, “ I shall keep for luck—always.” He looked meaningly into her eyes. “ They have already brought me the greatest luck of my life.” She flushed under his ardent gaze, and involuntarily dropped her glance. To cover her embarrassment, she reverted to the question of her fortune. ‘““T am all on pins and needles to learn what you have to tell me,” she said. ‘“‘ How do you go about it? By reading my palm?” “No, I shall use the tarok, the gypsy cards.” He took the pack from Natushska as he spoke, and, deftly riffling them, threw them on the table. “ Cut them toward you,” he directed, and Ilsa having complied, he laid them out in three sets, and studied the results. “You do not belong in this country,” he said abruptly. “I see here an old New England village, with spreading elm trees along a crooked street, and white houses set ‘back in wide yards. Out of one of them, with roses clambering over its porch, I see you come on your way to church. You are in the choir, and you have a solo to sing that morning. Since it is summer and the doors are open, your voice carries to the outside. “A very dark, enormously fat old woman comes driving by,” he went on. ‘ She has been a famous prima donna, but her day is over and she is the victim of an incur- able heart affection, so seeking rest and quiet for her last days, she has come to this remote village and taken a place on its outskirts. ‘“ She hears you singing, and stops to lis- ten. She waits until you come out, and then calls you to her. She tells you that you have golden capabilities, but must have training, and offers to take you in charge and teach you herself. You object that you cannot afford it, and she says she will gladly undertake your tuition free of charge. It will give her an interest in life and pro- vide occupation for her empty days.” The girl gave a little gasp of wonder- ment. . ‘She was an angel, Mme. Buno,” she murmured. ‘“ All that I may ever hope to be, I owe to her. “But how did you know all this?” she L A= Conmiclooolks (E@)