The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

HIS TEMPTATION. By W. BERT FOSTER, Author of “ A Path of Perl,” “The One Who Was Guilty,” etc. How the thousandth chance offered itself to a brakeman just at a time when he most needed an upward jolt in his fortunes, and what came of his flirting with evil. CHAPTER I. ONE CHANCE IN*‘A THOUSAND. ND now, dear boy, I come to our A chance—our only present chance, I mean. You must not blame Uncle Alger too harshly. He is “set” in his opinions, I know; but he has a right to expect me to be dutiful. For sixteen years I have been his care. He thinks he is kind to me now when he refuses to give me to you, dear boy, until you are better established. No man, so Uncle Alger says, is set- tled and has a surety until he has some- thing besides a mere salary to depend upon. Sickness, or some other cause, may cut off that salary any day. Until you have a thousand dollars to invest in some paying business—his own, if you like—we must wait to be wed. I must be the most ungrateful girl under the dome of heaven if I refuse to be guided by Uncle Alger, after all he has done for me. I am legally under his guar- dianship. It means waiting but two years, any- ' way, dear boy, and I suppose we are young to marry. Uncle Alger thinks if he keeps us apart until I am legally of age, you will surely have a thousand dollars saved. I know he means well by us. If he disliked you, Alfred, he would not offer to make you even a small part- ner in his business You see that, do you not? Be patient, dear boy. Let us wait cheerfully. ‘All ready, Deck?’ Conductor Harry Connors sang out, as he passed the rear platform where his flagman stood by the step, immersed in what he was reading and quite unconscious of the bustle about him. “All right, Harry,” was the prompt reply. Alfred Dexter hastily folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket. — The afternoon limited from Selsburg to Freedom Junction, on the southern branch of the F., L. and C. Railroad was on the point of departure. Her conductor, Harry Connors, was one of the most popular on the entire system, and he had a sharp oversight of his crew. He expected them to keep their uniforms speckless, to wear fresh linen, to keep their buttons and shoes polished—in fact, to take as much pains with their toilet as though they worked in a bank. The train was vestibuled, and was made up of a mail and two baggage-cars, two parlor-cars, and three or four day coaches, according to the traffic. Con- ductor Connors never failed to walk down the line, from the rear of the train to his own station at the front step of the first parlor-coach, a minute or two before the gong clanged for the limited’s departure. On the way he scrutinized each brakeman carefully. The man whose dress was not in order was likely to hear about it later from the usually jovial Harry, and in no uncertain terms. But although Dexter stood at the proper attitude of ‘“ attention ” beside the step of his car, his mind was still far away from the busy scene. He had fallen in love with Marjorie Alger the first time he had ever spoken with her. Dexter’s aunt and uncle had lived in her town, and Deck had seen a strikingly pretty girl on the street and in the small shops several times before he accom- plished her acquaintance. He had learned her name, and that she was the daughter, or ward, of Jeremiah Alger, a real-estate broker in the burg. Although his own relatives moved away from Hambleton, Dexter continued to visit there until he found means of being introduced to Mar- jorie Alger. When he once knew her he was, as he mentally expressed it, “done for.” He had never seen a girl before to whom he 654 CO OO (©