The Argosy, January 1907 — page 201: what you’re looking at

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

MUTUAL That day was the most feverish day I ever spent. Almanina’s father hoed potatoes as though he had never com- mitted an atrocious murder. ‘What did you call that story?” he asked me. “The Haunted Chapel.’ ” There was a click in his mouth and he went on hoeing. I received a check for fifty dollars | that afternoon, and hastened as quickly as the trolley would carry me to tell Almanina the good news. ‘Just think of it!” she said. ‘‘ And my own father’s crime! ”’ ‘“Let’s go see that church,” I said. “It can’t be far.” Almanina’s father had gone to New Hartford to get a piece of new harness. Her mother was visiting Si Jossing’s wife, up the hill. We went. We found the old lock, the levels that were filled in, the bit of creek that was left to feed the few mills along its route to the city, and we found, besides, plenty of woods and shrubbery. We saw no church, no remains of a church, no ruins. We returned to the farm. MUTUAL FLAMES. 383 = Pa, “sale Almanina, “we can’t find that chapel.” ey ell, slong as you've got your money,” he said, “ I’ll tell you. There aint. none. ‘““ No—no chapel?” “No. Nobody ever tried to preach to canalers in those days on the Chenang.” “ And-—Krily—the preacher? ”’ “Never heard of such a man.” “But that awful story—how you killed him—how you and ma sawed him up-——and—the rest?” “TU tell you. Ma and I had a talk, Just as I told you, when you want good corn you’ve got to plow and harrow and fertilize. You two lolled around here all summer making love and writin’ a lot of stuff nobody understood. I was doin’ the plowin’ and the harrowin’, and your mother helped. Now, you see what I meant. You've got to live a story in your mind to make it good. Yes, that was a good yarn. -‘ Haunted Chapel’? But, then, you’ve earned fifty dollars. That’s worth a yarn. I'll tell you an- other some day.” And with a grin at Almanina’s mother he sat down to supper and helped him- self to bread. FLAMES. BY TOM WORTH. A coincidence that was accommodating to more than the chief person concerned. = ee that curtain on fire?” “Tt certainly looks so to me,” I answered the little rotund personality who had thus accosted me. Though we had never seen each other before, we were drawn together by the excitement of the moment. From our position across the street from the house he had indicated, we could see that the blaze was making all- too-rapid headway. Together and in the usual excitement of such moments, we rushed across, bent upon alarm. The house door stood open, for it was summer in the village and the time just nightfall. “This is surely luck!” my companion of the moment gloated. { thought he referred to our timely discovery of the fire. I modified this conclusion later. Without ceremony we rushed into the house and he led the way up the short and easy flight of stairs to the room above where we had seen the blaze. We encountered nobody. The short and corpulent fellow proved himself possessed of remarkable agility, for at a bound he cleared the breadth of the apartment, tore the offending drapery from its fastenings, and with a hasty reach for the water pitcher which stood handy, the flaming fabric to a charred and water-soaked pulp. My part was passive, and consisted of a review of the room and its appur- tenances. ' COPNICLOOOLX< soon reduced ° (E@)