Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

——these two devilish women who had tacitly, deliberately shoved her into the background and had assumed the right to gloat over her husband. She would like to take that pretty head of Milly’s and pound it against the radio, make it do a Black Bottom of its own on the hard floor; or take that great torpid mass called Kate and slam her big, empty brain until some fragment of sense was stirred up in it. But she did none of these things. She just tightened her small, white fists, looked hard at the two women, and suddenly yanked open the front door and ran out, slamming it behind her. She was out of breath when she got home, and more than that—she was in a highly nervous state. The un- happiness of the whole day was pent up in her and she craved an outlet. She wanted to hurl dishes or scream or cry, but there was lacking the ignit- ing spark to set off her emotional pyrotechnics. The igniting spark came when Al- bert appeared on the scene, at exactly quarter past one. When she heard him coming in, Viola made believe that she was sleeping on the couch. She would not give him the satisfaction of think- ing that she had been waiting up for him. Presently. she knew that he was standing above her, looking down. He had tiptoed in. Now he joggled her arm tentatively. She raised her eyelids, and in her rising anger, forgot to pretend that she had been sleeping. When he said noth- ing, she remarked caustically : “Well, you might say where you’ve been.” “Gee, I thought you were sound asleep.” “T was, but you woke me with your tramping. I suppose you’ve been hav- ing a good time. I suppose you think that, since you can be such a knockout with one, that all the others will fall on your Apollo neck, too. Well, don’t ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. mind me. wife,” “Aw, Vi, don’t be like that.” | “Did you take her home, whoever she was?” Viola inquired. “Be yourself,” he advised her. “TI just went to a show with George—” “Oh, you went to a show with George? How interesting! And what kind of a show, may I ask?” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, “Revue,” he answered wearily. “And so, while I suffered, thinking you were dead, you were watching a revue? How nice. How thoughtful of you.” “Tt was too late to call you up.” She reminded him quickly that it had not been too late to call up before sup- er. “Listen here,” he exclaimed, flaring up, “ I’ve got troubles of my own with- out being bawled out for nothin’ !” “What troubles? I suppose you’re in love with Millicent, and worrying about how you’re going to get rid of me. Well, you just try, hear that? You just try. If that girl ever comes within fifty feet of me, or you, either, she'll get what’s coming to her, and you, too. IT’ve stood enough of this business, and I””—she was beginning to break now, to grow hysterical—* I won’t stand for it. I won’t—I don’t have to. You can take your girl friend and go to Paris or Reno—TI don’t care —I won't stay here—I’m going to leave to-night—” Albert, his forehead creased with wotried wrinkles, tried to put his arms around her, but she hit against him and broke away, then sought refuge in the bedroom. After all, I’m only your There she lay and cried good and. plenty—cried until she began to won- der vaguely why he didn’t come and comfort her. Her tears stopped, her choking grew less audible, and finally she sat up, only to see Albert standing there in the doorway, watching her. “Feel better, old girl?’ he asked, smiling. EOPMIC LOOKS (E@)