Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

LOVE OF SEVEN DOLLS gt - Golo, this is a friend of mine, by the name of Mouche. We’re thinking of getting married. Mouche, meet Golo. He’s our orchestra.” Mouche found herself shaking hands solemnly with the negro, who bowed courteously and carried her hand halfway to his lips as though she were a queen. Mr. Reynardo rasped, “ Break it up. You'll be giving her ideas.” Then to Mouche, “‘ By the way, kid, can you sing? "’ Mouche replied, “ A little. Can you?” “Oh yes,’”” Mr. Reynardo admitted. ‘‘ Heroic tenor. And I’ve got a friend who is a pretty good basso. We could have a trio. Hey, Ali, send the Doc up. Golo, you play something for us.” The Giant disappeared, to be replaced by a solemn-looking pen- guin, who wore a pince-nez attached to a black ribbon and was introduced by the Fox as Dr. Duclos, a member of the Academy. The Penguin bowed and murmured, “* Charmed indeed. For- give the formal clothes. I have just come from the annual dinner of the Anthropofumbling Society.” Golo leaned against the dented wing of the Citroén and fingered the advance ghost of a melody on his guitar, then struck a firm chord, and thereafter, without further introduction, Mouche found herself singing the popular Parisian song hit of the moment: Va-t’en, va-t’en, va-t’en! Fe ne suts plus ton amant . . She had not much voice, it was true, but there was a softness and an ingenuous earnestness in it with a slight throaty quality that was young and pleasing and blended astonishingly well with the unctuous but not unmelodious tenor sung by Mr. Reynardo, supported and interlarded by deep basso ‘‘ poom-pooms ”’ contri- buted at the proper musical moments by Dr. Duclos. Be off, be off, be off! I am not your lover any more, Another has taken your place .. . The music completed the spell under which Mouche found herself and carried her away into this strangest of all strange lands of make-believe into which she had wandered out of the unhappy night. The song was catching the ears of their neighbours too. lhe fortune-teller and her husband ceased quarrelling and came nearer to listen, their gipsy eyes glistening in the torchlight. ‘The work- man and the truck-driver were clapping their hands to punctuate the Va-t’en. A passing cab-driver pulled up to the kerb and got out. Late home-goers lingered. Other concessionaires came over from nearby pitches which they had been engaged in dismantling. Soon a considerable crowd had formed a semicircle about the dingy little puppet booth. These were hard, rough people, mostly; the night was cold and the hour late, but they too succumbed to the spell of the odd little talking dolls, the music, and the new ingredient that had been added—the waif. comicloooks.comn