The Argosy, January 1906 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

ALMOST AS “ Don’t ‘look here’ me!” Bang went his fist on the table, and the little bronze Venus did a high-jump that was really creditable for one of her rears. “All right,” I replied. I arose. . “When you want me,” I said, “ you know where to find me.” And I turned to leave. “You come around on your next birthday, and not before, you ungrateful puppy!” vociferated Uncle Tim, and the Venus made another hop. “ And you won't be detained unduly.” “Very well, uncle,” I said. “‘ Good- night.” Parkins helped me on with my coat. “When will you be back, Mr. Julian?” he asked. “To-morrow some time, Parkins,” I answered. | ae I had “ left the house ” on divers pre- vious occasions, and so I was able to prognosticate rather accurately future events. I had left once because I would not give up football; once because I wouldn’t part my hair in the middle; once be- cause I wouldn’t go to Oxiord; once because I bought a power-boat; once because I wanted to play polo; once because I didn’t want to play polo, and several other times for things that have slipped my mind. : On the first occasion my absence had been of a week’s duration, on the second five days, and they had been consistently growing less. So | figured this to last about twenty-four hours at the outside. I crossed over into the park, for it was still early afternoon. The green lawns were covered with pretty children wearing little white dresses that stuck out all around lke lampshades above their fat, bare legs, and they were vetting gloriously dirty and having the time of their lives while their nurses held soulful converse with big, blue- coated policemen with white gloves and countenances glowing with self-satisfac- tion. After helping the children disorganize with salted peanuts the digestions of several sociable squirrels, I continued in my walk across the park. I reached Central Park West, and, ARRANGED. 247 turning to the south, passed the Circle and went on down Seventh Avenue. When I reached Forty-Second Street I chanced to see a clock. The hands were at a quarter to three, so I saw that I ~ would have to ride if I wished to reach my bank in time; for my down-town journeying had been with the partial object of cashing a check to sustain me through my period of ostracism. I swung on a car and sat down beside a girl. And such a girl! I have seen all those things that Botticelli and Rembrandt and Gibson and Peter Paul Somebody and Christy =-have done, and it was quite evident to me that they had never seen her or they would have done better—much better. If you should take all the best things in all the galleries that anemic-looking Cook’s tourists are herded through so many times a year, and composite them, and multiply them by eighty-four, the result would be a rank and puerile imi- tation of the girl who sat beside me on this Broadway car. And in that com- pany and on that car she looked about as incongruous as a calla lily at Coney Island. Iam sure that I should have been ex- tremely rude if at just this time the con- ductor had not. made his appearance on the running-board, and, thrusting a large and dirty paw under my chin, de- manded his tribute. I felt in my change pocket. There was nothing there. Then I sought my pocketbook. I had left it at home. Every pocket was empty. I hadn’t so much as a match-box. “Git busy,” requested the conductor impatiently. I got busy, but it was futile. I hadn’t a cent. “Come, come! Git a move on you,” demanded the representative of the company. “Y’m very sorry,’ I explained polite- ly, “ but Pve left. my money at home.” “Too tin,’ declared the conductor. “Gimme de coin er fall off. See?” The rest of the passengers In my im- | mediate vicinity were waking up and taking notice. *“ Looks like a crook,’ commented a chook com