The Argosy, January 1906 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

ro I was a deuced See puppy. aes he asked me if he were to gather 3 = By the way, who’s the lady?” I sked. = = eo tenee Langham, the Sa aine of able. © American?” I queried. a Yes,” snapped Uncle Tim. Bees Well, what does she say?” I asked. eS Eh—she——” sputtered Uncle 28 — “Says just what I do,” I stated posi- 5 u she doesn’t, Pll never a. Why, then, of course I can’t. ean 1?” He thought it over for a moment— for two or three moments—and then he - said just “Damn!” and no more. ~ Then he began to bluster. He’s a big, fine-looking old gentleman, you know, and usually when he starts to paw and _ rear and champ his bit, he gets what he wants, and gets it quickly—from those, that is, who don’t know him. I do. Bee What do you mean,” he thundered in his deep bass, “by setting up your infantile judgment against mine? Don’t — you think I know enough to choose you a wife?” — Uncle Tim’s a bachelor, so I replied ~ ealmly: ~ “Past performances count, uncle.” How — your guardian until you are twenty-five —— six months more!” ~ “Soa misguided Providence has de- — creed, ’ I answered. 5 ee Your humor is about as great as : spout common sense,” said Uncle Tim _ savagely. “Thank you,” I replied modestly, Se taking = eare to ‘regard this as to get a little warm myself. ~ “Tl have you understand that I am_ manded fiercely. “On one condition,” “Well?” “That you let me buy your cigars and tf oe clothes and tell you what time to go to bed as long as you live,’ I returned. “'That’s fair. I know a whole-lot more about cigars and clothes and bedtime than you do about wives.” ~ € Ton’t you want to spend my money, too? ” he asked sarcastically. “JT wouldn’t be so unjust,” I re- turned. “ 'That’s a thing in which you have had the more experience. Ill leave that to you.” “You are very funny, aren’t you?” queried Uncle Tim sarcastically. “Tt runs in the family,” I rejoined modestly. Doubtless it was very rude of me to converse thus, but [I was beginning It was all so ridiculous, this talk of an alliance. Just as though I were the Crown Prince of Siam or the great and only scion of a decaying nobility. It made me weary. It evidently made Uncle Tim so, too, for he quite lost the little patience that he usually carries with him. “Tve had enough of this,” he shout- ed. “ Will you or will you not?” “Not,” I answered. “When my marrying time comes, I’ll perhaps put a personal in the Herald or go to a mat- rimonial agency, where you can look over an assortment of wives before buy- ing. But I will have some sort of a run for my money.” “Leave my house!” he thundered in a voice that made the lampshades rattle. “You'll never get a cent of my money. Vl leave it to the Soldiers’ Home.” “Doubtless a much more worthy charity,” I approved. “Youll get your own money—all of it—when you are twenty-five, ” he con- tinued in megaphone tones, “and you can go to the devil with it.” Now, I didn’t want to row it with the old gentleman, who has the biggest heart in the world if his self-esteem and sense of dignity didn’t cover it up and tuck the edges in. lify him. oe Now, look here, unele,” I said, ce Sa - “Then you won't do it?” he de= ° So I tried to mol-