The Argosy, October 1906 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

eet the outside is too small game- for a = ~ real live duke.” pee “He: ain't S60 terrible much alive at that,” objected Billy, only half-con- -vinced. ‘“‘ I’ve seen race-track men, back to Sheepshead Bay, that’d make him look © jike a dead ’un.” -“ He may think differently” “Well, don’t get woozy. -you the tip to warn you.” “Warn me? Why?” “Cause you're nutty over her,” re- : plied Billy, in surprise that I should have asked. I only gave See Drop it!” I adjured him ety ore Haw often must I tell you it’s bad form to drag women’s names acne a eS jokes?” Ngee ss -- 9M ain’'t a joke!” he ‘ctor ge bl -_- you ain’t in love with her I never = ~ . _ ™ Nonsense! ”’ ae _ Don’t throw the bluff, Pete!” he begged. ‘‘ What’s the use ‘of wastin’ a _ good lie? You’ve got the worst case I ever saw. I’ve been onto it for two weeks.” ‘But I never knew it myself till three days ago,’ I cried, Ss off my _ guard. “The victim's gen’rly the last one to. ae = get wise,” said Billy, with oracular grav- re 5 eee ‘Well, good luck to you, old man! | don’t set up to be a picker of winners in the maiden class, but unless ]’m a = farmer, she don’t exactly hate you, <a either. You’ve made good runnin’ so Ss pe Pete. Keep it up! I’m rootin’ for ae you. Foolish as it may seem, his classical -expressions of good-will cheered me amazingly. Besides, I felt better now that I shared my wonderful secret with some one. F ~Love is a queer thing. For years 4 had been a secretive, hard-headed busi- ness man; and now I was actually deri- ving pleasure from sharing life’s golden secret with an East Side ex-prize-fighter. Verily, the human heart is fearfully = and wonderfully made. ee 038 the under: jaw of the domestic cow. ‘I sat through: dinner trying to keep up my end of the talk, but finding my- = _- mabcbant the eves of a man who can’t be worth over a million — “some one was singing ‘‘ Addio, Mia Bella Napoli!” to a plaintive mandolin ac- _ of the long windows—came Doris. ee _8asp, 7 anaes a constantly a ae ao in an as inane fashion. Once or twice she oe ‘me at it; _and—perhaps through embar- - rassment or annoyance at being stared . — cheeks went red and her eyes ell : “Oh, you've got her som! ! » chuckled Billy as we left the table. “Shut up!” I retorted. I strayed out on the balcony above the street. I wanted to be alone. I did not * know why. Below, along the sea-wall, . companiment. The moolight lay in a broad track of silver athwart the bay. The soft airs of early ‘April ifeumied ‘across my face and I could hear the lap- *ping of ripples along the shore. eS Moonlight—and ‘Y¥ eee 2G Love —and Italy!” se see ~ I had read the ae years” S before. and ks now it came back to me in all its full and sweet meaning. And with it—part- Se white hands the portiéres = one ing with little ‘Thad not heard her. But I turned to meet her, even before she appeared 2 from behind the heavy curtains. Tae —— thing told me she was near. ; = The. beauty of the night was in my = brain. She alone had been needed to : complete it all. _- There she stood, her shitiitering white dress and big luminous eyes against the velvet back round of the hangings, the glory of the moonlight forming an au- reole about her. Eos And thén—neither of us had. apie 2 —I don’t know how it happened; but I had sprung forward and caught her in my arms. Her willowy, slender figure lay quiet ‘against my breast for the remotest frac- Then, with a little she made as though she would freesherself. — se I, in my stark ignorance of women, _ released her. She took a step backward, though, as it seemed to me, not in ee ger or disgust. | = And as she did so, a bar of light { from & the corridor pierced the. aperture between Ses the curtains and fell full upon her. es My a= dwelt on her uae in. a = tion of a minute. disheveled “Tair, » the: