Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 7, 1928 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

HEARTBREAK TRAIL, enough to stand it. You'll have to get out.” “All in good time,” said Eustace with extraordinary bravado. “I’ve come here to say my say, an’ I’m goin’ to say it out, Mr. Doctor. An’ what I’m goin’ to say is mostly to this gen’le- man, Mr. Tristram,” he went on quick- ly. “I’m speaking for myself and the family of this girl here. What you going to do with ’er, Mr. Tristram? We come from a line of proud and respectable Christian folks, we do. Our family name ain’t going to be dragged in the mud an’ tromped on by any fine gen’leman for his own amuse- ment.” “Don’t let him go on, Dr. Vincent!” cried Hetty. “‘ I can’t stand it—it’s too much !” “Look at me, girl!’ commanded Eustace. “ Look at your father, an honest man. Are you a good girl? Can you look your lovin’ mother in the face and say you are?” “Damn you, shut your mouth and get out!” snarled Vincent, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Eustace cringed instinctively, but caught at a chair and braced himself. “Wait! You jus’ wait!’ he said. “T’m going to hear what Mr. Tristram has to say. ‘“‘T want to know, young gen’leman, if—as might happen—I’ve been wrong about all this. Are you a gen’leman of hon’rable intentions? Was you comin’ to me like a man an’ ask me for my child in holy wedlock? Have you pro- posed to my daughter to enter into the state o’ holy matrimony, or haven't ou?” “ Stop! I tell you to stop!” screamed the girl. “ You know better than to say these awful things! Mr. Tristram brought me here, to Mrs. Roberts, that’s all! He brought me because I'd ’a’ died if he hadn’t. Everybody knows that. He doesn’t care anything about me—not so much as a snap o’ the fin- ger. And I don’t hardly know him. He’s Mr. Tristram—from Washing- 9A 273 ton. What do I care about him? What should I care? He’s not my kind. I never—’ “Hetty! Hetty!’ exclaimed Vin- cent, honestly indignant and disturbed. “Think what you’re saying, Hetty. Mr. Tristram is your best friend, my dear girl. Who but Mr. Tristram thought of saving you, of helping you? And you can’t say that you don’t care about him! When you were ill unto death your mind turned always upon jim. His name was the only one on your lips—* Reuel! Reuel!’—I heard it fifty times. And you’re willing to hurt him now!” “You lie!’ she cried tragically. “This must be stopped!” declared Reuel. “ It—it’s too outrageous. You were crazy to bring up such a thing, Vincent.” “T was crazy!’ exclaimed Hetty, grasping at the thought. “ Don’t you all know I was crazy? And wouldn’t I be crazy to say such things?” “Truth emerges from the subcon- scious mind in delirium,” announced Vincent stiffly. “Truth!” she echoed scornfully, though a sob rose in her throat and choked her. “ There’d be no truth if I said I cared for him! I hope I never see him again. | didn’t ask for his char- ity. I didn’t want it. He’s the fine gen- tleman—the stuck-up swell! They all want to help the poor, and think how good and kind they are. I don’t thank him for what he’s done for me, and Pll pay him back some day. I want to go home; [ don’t belong here!” “ But first, you all got to listen to me!” thundered Eustace. “T still got something to say to these gen’lemen.” The loud voices in noisy altercation had drawn other persons in the small hotel to the Roberts apartment. Hu- bert Dawson suddenly strode into the middle of the room and seized Leeds roughly by the collar. “You come with me, Eustace!” he commanded. “You le’ me go—take vour hands N”OOLKS CORNIEC (E@)