Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 187: what you’re looking at

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

for the house committee had decided it could not keep the club open through the winter. The festivity was really snatched from winter itself, for any day might bring a change from the Indian summer—and, as it was, the decoration committee had had [' was to be the last dance of the season, | difficulty in finding sufficient branches on - which the red and golden leaves remained, so as to fill in between the corn stalks, or to trim around the edges of the pumpkins that lent splashing bits of color to the room. It was a country dance, the costumes caricaturing the manner in which country folk are supposed to dress. It was the thought of these caricatures that made young Eaton pause after he had tied his formal dress tie, and, carefully surveying the result in the mirror before which he sat, give two or three deft touches to the tie, which he believed heightened the effect of the finished product. Then, rising with a slight effort, he limped across the room. and removed his coat and vest from their hanger. He smoothed the soft cuffs of his shirt, brushed an imaginary speck from his trousers, and went to his mother’s room to study himself in the long glass. “Is Isobel going with you?” his mother asked frorg her place beside the open fire. “No, she’s on some sort of a commit- tee, and she’s been at the club all after- noon—staying there with a bunch for sup- per.” “Oh!” Then, after she read a line: “ Be LS cy . 1 + Courtena Savage ay sure to see that there is a blanket for your knees. It may turn cold, you know.” “Yes, I’m all right.” He was standing very straight now—one did not notice the contracted muscles that caused his lameness. His mother, glancing -in the direction of her son, saw his reflec- tion. An odd sensation passed over her. It was almost as if he had not come back. Then, swiftly, joy took its place—joy, be- cause while he might be lame, Andrew Eaton was still tall, very good to look upon, his blue eyes cleanly bright, his light brown hair pushed straight back from his high forehead. And, at the minute, a smile played about his thin, sensitive lips. Yes— she was thankful that he was no worse. “I thought it was some sort of a dress-up affair?”’ she questioned. “So it is, but what’s the use of my get- ting into overalls and a sun hat? I’m only part of the ringside now, you know.” There was just a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Well, you'll have a nice time,” she assured him. “Yes, and even if I’m not dancing they'll notice me in this get-up,” he laughed. His mothef a sensible soul, thought how charac- teristic the remark was of both her son and her husband. They had to be noticed. She was still thinking of the fact when he came in and kissed her good night. Andrew Eaton was late in arriving at the country club, and, laying aside his fur-limed coat and cap, he arrived at a place in the 693 a y Go ogle chook