The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

THE ‘This passes all bounds!” I cried in mock horror. ‘ Does the man ask me to disrobe in a crowded theater? Is this a British festivity—this Mischianza of yours—or the anteroom of a madhouse? I protest—” But Digby, darting past André, had seized me by the arm, as though he would rip the very coat from my back. The oth- ers caught him, and I saw by their faces that this last act of violence would result in Digby’s instant expulsion. I laughed into the baronet’s distorted face, from ut- ter triumph. Then, as with a final wrench they tore him free from my arm, he made a furious grab at mv sleeve. The ruffles came away in his grasp. Down to the wooden floor, in front of us all, clattered the watch. In my mo- ment of victory Fate had played me the scurviest trick yet. I stood exposed! CHAPTER VII. I BECOME AN OUTCAST. LUCKILY, the British military mind in those days did not always work with lightning rapidity. By the time that horrible watch touched the ground I was well aware of what its presence tnrere meant for me. But the rest of the men for a moment stood looking down at it. Digby, with a wheeze of delight, pounced upon his recovered timepiece. And, as he did so, I seized him by the shoulder, catching him unprepared, spin- ning him around and grabbing him by the long skirts of his Quaker coat. While his friends were still wondering at my swift maneuver, there was a flash of steel, a sharp purr of sheared cloth— and the keen sword-edge had severed the skirts from the body of his coat. Once more my Quaker coat - skirts, with their valuable contents, were in my possession. Scarce had I time to stuff them bulkily into the breast of my flow- ered waistcoat, when Digby and three of the others had hurled themselves at me. Again I was at advantage over them. For I was already sword in hand and with my back to the platform. In face of my flashing steel and determined look, they paused for a moment. SPY OF VALLEY FORGE. 677 With a low, circling sweep of my blade, grating its point on the floor, I defied them all in right dramatic gesture. Then, as they gathered for a rush and their swords swished out of the scab- bards like a succession of whip-lashes, I leaped forward as if to charge them. In almost the same movement I wheeled, vaulted onto the stage, and plunged behind the curtain, leaving the sword to trip up the first who should follow me. I fear lest, in my lack of skill with the pen, I have made this scene seem as though its enactment occupied great space of time. It was not so. I do not believe thirty seconds elapsed from the moment the watch fell to that when I disappeared behind the curtain. I found myself on a stage set for the farce’s first act. I shouldered my way through the awkwardly-posed actors, and off at the right upper entrance. I was running for my life; yet I was not minded to fly in blind panic into some corner, there to be taken like a hare. So into the first dressing-room I charged and flung myself into a chair before the candle-lit table. scarce half a minute behind me trooped the hue and cry. One man—it was the fat fellow in the peachblow-coat —stuck his head in at the door; then withdrew in bashful chagrin. For, at the dressing - table, clad in skirt and shawl, an actress was curling her yellow hair by means of a pair of crimping-tongs. Her back was to the door; but she caught sight of the peach- blow gentleman in the mirror and squawked aloud, right prudishly, bury- ing her face in her hands and screaming: ‘“Go away! Oh, prithee be gone, wretch!” ‘“ Nothing in there but an old actress hag crimping her hair!” was the ungal- lant report bellowed by the. peachblow fellow to his mates, as they trooped past and out into the rear alleyway leading to Walnut Street. Whereat the “actress hag’’ breathed a mighty sigh of relief, kicked off the skirt, tossed aside the shawl, and dropped the cold crimping-tongs. It had been “touch-and-go.” And luck, having betrayed me in the matter of the dropped watch, at last stood my friend. COMICLOO© (©