Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

‘ENTIRELY WITHOUT NOTES. conceal a jot that he did not know. length he pronsed, rather gloomily, to follow Denby’s advice. ‘But it’s wrong, all wrong,” he pro- tested. “It’s a rotten lie—and I’ve got a hunch in my bones I’m going to be found out. And then—” “Yes, but listen, Walter. No woman marries a man because of his occult know!- edge of the fine arts. She takes him for other*and more personal reasons—” Bowman burst out bitterly, “ Exactly! And she’s not the sort ef woman to thmk mmich of 2 false alarm. That’s what I am, a@ sort of fancy Easter egg, ali scrolls and gilding outside and blown clean and empty. Oh, well, Eday, Vl follow your scheme. And thanks to you. You're a good sort. What are you digging at, by the way? Am I due for another speech?” At Now it was Denby’s turn to redden and look uncomfortable. ‘‘ No—ncthing for you,” he admitted. ‘“ Leoking up some dope on ceramics and basketry. Trying to prove that the natives of Alaska and British Columbia originally came from Asia by tracing out their decorative designs— it’s a hell of a job, if you must know it!” “Ceramics? Oh!” Bowman began to “ Lydia Crawford, that friend ef Miss Ames, is interested im ceramics, I “hike” PEP for you? “ She’s writing a book about ’em.” ‘12 looks as if you were writing it.” “Not at all,” Denby protested quickly, “not at all! Just helping a little. I hap- pened to spring this theory on her just to be saying something. Now I’m paying for my damfoolishness. She wants to put it im the beak.’’ “ She’s a wonderful woman, Eddy. Beau- tifal, brilliant, gracious. How many women d’you see with her money and social posi- tion who take the trouble to be of some use in the world? To think for themselves? To do things? And you made. a hit with ber, you lucky dog.” “Lucky! That’s your idea of tuck?” “You mean there’s no chance she'll care Pp? ‘“‘¥ don’t know about that. Maybe she would, I don’t dare ask her; I samply don’t dare /” | 10 A 433 giared unhappily at the ceihng. He added fmally, “1 teli you I’m unhappy, bitterky, damnably unhappy. I’m m love with a woman, just as badly hit as anybody ever was—and scared to death to try my luck for fear }’lt win her. Every last, little thing about Lydia Crawford sets me crazy with joy—her hair, the way she carries her chim so high, her sunile, the way she uses her hands, that thoroughbred air of hers— every last little thing makes.me dippy with delight, except her brains. God deliver me from a woman with brains!” Bowman stared mightily. He demanded. “ What’s all this rot? You love her and you're afraid she might love you! What's all this about brains? You talk bke ths new-fangied free verse!” — Denby m- “] mean just what I say,” sisted. “I love Miss Crawford, but I hate brillant women. I do, I hate em. Any man like me who mares 4 woman as bright or brighter than he is—is a plain fook. Hel never be happy im a million years. It just can’t happen, at least not with me. Why, look, Walter, Fve got some ambitions to shine on my own account some day. Some day I want toe be Eddy Denby, not the human outja board that public. You can’t blame me for that, can you, Walter?” “a Mowys td yon yun domi ent loose and do something for yourself,” Bowman agreed ‘“‘ And so I shall. But ii I marry the brilliant Lydia Crawford, just assuming for sake of argument that I could, well, where the devil do I get off? Im the brilliant Lydia Crawford’s husband, that’s my sia- tion!” Denby lighted ancther cigarette, giared savagely at it and threw it mto & comer untasted. “Something tells me she’s the only woman [’'ll ever love—and my com- mon sense tells me we canid never . be happy,” be muttered. “ Why, oh, why did the good Lord give the only weman I want more brains than I’ve got!” Denby looked miserable, no denying it. Bowman canid see be meant what he san, though he had a hard time making out just sian an = =) ee) AGO elo CO