The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

650 ed as he recalled the phrases, sentences, and terms of endearment he had used— reread them as they would appear to her eyes — and summed up the note as a whole under the sneering heading—“ a sticky mess.” Bor theré was not one chance in a million that she loved him— had had time to learn to care. So she would re- ceive the letter coldly, and all would be over between them. Why had he sent it to her so soon? Why hadn’t he waited, restrained the mad impulse which prompted him to propose before he had known the girl two months? If only he had the letter back — he would have paid any price, and not thought it too high to recover it. But that was impossible. Once dropped down the letter-slot, into the mail-box below, the thing was as far beyond his reach as though in another world. It was one more case of spilled milk, he thought bitterly, over which there was no use crying. : He might as well return to his rooms, and console himself with what slim com- fort lay in the contemplation of that millionth chance that she loved him and would take his note in its proper spirit. His glance turned-to the chute behind him for a fleeting, farewell glance at the slide down which his hopes of the future had dashed to destruction. And then a gasp of wonder escaped his wide-spread lips. er there, before his eyes, not six “inches below the mouth of the slot, was a letter, plainly seen, flattened against the glass of the mail-chute! Fascinatedly, in motionless silence, he stared at the envelope suspended in mid- air. The postage-stamp on its upper cor- ner, vanishing and reappearing as the lights above cast a flickering glare over the glass, seemed a jovial red eye that winked at him. In the haze that swam before his gaze the white square of en- velope danced, the red eye twinkling, and beckoned to him as though to say: “Come and get me! I knew you'd want me back after you mailed me, so I didn’t go down. I stuck in the chute. Come and get me!” THE ARGOSY. Stealthily, fearful lest some sound or movement might dislodge the precious letter now so temptingly near, he crept toward the chute. Gingerly, and in fear and trembling, he slipped his fingers into the slot. With dainty care at first, he groped in the narrow chute. Then, in desper- ation, he twisted, turned, and squeezed his fingers down. To no avail—his hand fell three inches short of touching the envelope. His stick-pin! He would fish for it with that. Hastily’ detaching it from his cravat, he held it insecurely between the tips of two fingers and lowered it down the chute. The pin barely grazed the let- ter’s end—and that was all. It was maddening to be so near the note’s recovery, and yet so far from its possession. How could he reach it? There must be something, somewhere, in his rooms that was long enough to shove down the slide, and practicable enough to use in pulling out the letter. He turned up the hall toward his open door— , And then, suddenly, he stopped. A chill tickled its way up his spine at a sound behind him. It was the opening and closing clang of one of the elevator-doors. An impulse, stronger than he could resist, twisted his head abruptly around toward the passenger the car had de- posited at his floor. And at once his brow was dewed with an icy perspiration— his knees sagged and rattled together— For coming toward him, a _ pleasant smile of recognition on her lips, was Miss Carrol! “Good evening, Mr. Thorpe!” Tom gulped and reached absent-mind- edly for his hat—checking the foolish gesture at his forehead, where his trem- bling hand slid wetly along his brow to rumple his hair. ‘““ Good—good evening, Miss Carrol! ” he mumbled. 3 Was ever a situation so_ terrible? There was that note, sticking, in plain sight through the glass, in the chute where he could not get at it—and here _was the very woman to whom it was ad- dressed. OO (©