The Argosy, January 1907 — page 188: what you’re looking at

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

370 be able to spin to my folks at the break- fast-table in the morning. “It will be a day of surprises for them,” I chuckled. ‘First of all, they’ll be surprised at my appearance at breakfast. And then, after they've got over that surprise, I shall horrify them by informing them that while they were peacefully sleeping in their beds a desperate burglar was prowling all over the house. I wonder what Ella’s pretty friend will say when she hears of my courage. Ill bet she'll admire - 1 stopped short, suddenly overcome by a staggering thought. Was that pretty girl who had lost her key a friend of my sister Ella, as I had supposed? Was it not possible that she was an accomplice of the burglar, and that she let him into the house? Still more startling thought: was it not pos- sible that that girl was none other than the burglar himself ? I had read of crooks assuming female disguises. Was it possible that I had been fool enough to open the door for that burglar and let him into the house, thinking that he was a pretty girl? But by the time I had reached the house I had dismissed these startling presumptions from my mind as too ab- surd for consideration. That girl certainly was no man in dis- guise, and, moreover, a girl with a face like that could not be a burglar’s ac- complice. No; undoubtedly she was friend, as I had at first surmised. I climbed the stairs to my room, and, undressing myself, went to bed. This time I was allowed to sleep unin- terruptedly. When I awoke the sun was peeping in at my window. My watch had stopped, but I guessed that it must be near breakfast-time, so I dressed carefully and went down-stairs. A servant-girl was laying the cloth in Ella’s the dining-room. She was a new girl, ° and she’ did not know me. ‘“T suppose the family will be down soon?” I ventured. “Yes, sir,” she answered politely. ‘“ Breakfast at eight o’clock, you know, sir.” ‘All right,” I said. “I’m going into the garden. Don’t say anything to the THE ARGOSY. folks about my being here. I want io surprise them.” “Yes, sir,’ she answered smilingly. My father always prided himself upon his garden. Most New York folks allow their back yards to go to waste, but my father had planted in our few feet of ground all sorts of flowers and bushes. I stepped out at the back door and into the yard, sniffing the fragrance of the rose-bushes as I strolled about. At the other end of the yard I espied something that somehow or other made my heart beat more rapidly. It was Ella’s friend, the pretty girl who had lost her key. She was leaning over a geranium-bed, and arose hastily as I approached. “Good morning,” I said boldly. ‘Hope you slept well.” “Yes, thanks,” she replied sweetly. ‘“{’m sorry that I had to disturb your rest. I can’t think how I lost that hate- ful key.” : “ Don’t mention it,” I rejoined. “It was a pleasure to me to come down and let you in.” : ‘“Aren’t these geraniums pretty?” she remarked, apparently seeking a diver- sion. “I just love geraniums.”’ “Let me pluck a few for you,” I said eagerly, and stooped down with that intention. GH, 2146 she cried, in horror. “Don’t do that. It’s against the rules of the house to pick the flowers. They’re very cranky on that point.” “Pll brave their anger,” I declared smilingly, as I plucked the sweet flowers and offered her a nosegay. “I guess they won’t be very angry with me. I’m the prodigal son, you see.” She looked at me in a startled sort of way, and was about to say something, but just then the breakfast-bell rang and we both hurried into the house. “Don’t say anything as we enter the room,” I whispered in her ear. “I want to surprise them, you know. ‘They don’t expect me home.” She looked at me, plainly puzzled. Was it possible that this girl did not guess who I was? Oh, well, if such was the case she would be enlightened as to my identity in a very few seconds. I smiled as I thought of the pleasant {?? scene that was about to ensue—the shouts . EOPMICLOOW “S) EO