The Argosy, April 1912 — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

IN QUEST OF A QUEEN. 149 own people at Malvin Lake, he formed a plot. First he had invited the Merton boys to go fishing with him for a month in the Muskokos. They were barely settled there when he announced the arrival of a telegram demanding his immediate presence in New York on business. Taking only a single grip, and leaving James to look after the welfare of his guests, he left by the next train, promising to be gone only a week? So, late at night, some thirty-six hours afterward, he arrived at Malvin Lake un- der the assumed name of Reuben Brown, an alibi established, and all clues to his identity and his whereabouts cut off. The bus-driver at the station had taken him to this little farmhouse, run by one Martin Wise. One glance at his quarters in the morning light had made it clear to Creigh- ton why this house had remained as the very last choice. “Tf Hortense lives in a joint like this, it’s all off,” he announced with finality, as he gingerly placed one foot on the rag- carpet. “There must be a first-class hotel around semewhere, though. ‘That’s whefe the little lady will be all right.” “Meanwhile, Willie must make himself fit for company. I hate to disturb the peace of that cool, little lake by bathing in it before breakfast, but it must be done. I won't call on the girl till afternoon, and I’ll save the shave till then.” His first impulse was to throw on his bathrobe and trot directly down to the shore. Then he remembered that he had no bathing-suit. He must hunt a spot where he could per- form his ablutions in all the simplicity of the good old days, before bathing-suits were put on the market. In order to make his passage to the lake as little embarrassing as possible, he com- pletely dressed himself, and stuffing a towel under his coat, stole out, unobserved by the still slumbering household. It took a search of nearly half an hour along the shore before he found a spot so quiet and hidden that he was willing to venture on that much-dreaded but much- desired bath. Now, Creighton was a good swimmer of the gymnasium-trained sort. His ex- perience, however, had been largely con- fined to the very temperate waters of natatorium tanks, and the mild ocean surf of mid August. Head first, he dived into the shivery flood, and the instant his top hair struck that icy, mountain-lake water, he had enough of cleanliness for the nonce. His soul thrilled instantly with one consuming de- sire ot set foot on dry, warm soil. Had he carried out that purpose, his sub- sequent history would hardly be worth the telling. But as Creighton turned to make a mad rush for raiment, his ears were smitten by a peal of wild, idiotic laughter. With a gasp of horror, he sank back to his chin in concealing water. But search the shore as he might, he could see nothing of the frivolous being who had thus disturbed his poise. Mo- ments passed, and the embracing water seemed by geometrical progression to grow more chill. His aristocratic teeth were in imminent danger of smiting loose some ex- pensive dentistry. He dared not make that rush for his clothes till he was sure the invisible spec- tator had passed on. It was swim or freeze. : | So he struck out, keéping close to the shore, and watching meanwhile for the laughing fool to show himself, or herself. It might be some mountain hussy with little delicacy, and a distorted sense of humor. Then came the laugh again. This time, to the swimmer’s surprise, it seemed to arise from the open lake. Creighton looked and then he, too, laughed. The mirthful shriek came from the flat bill of a little water-fowl, floating on the wavelets a dozen yards away. It dived abruptly. It was a loon. Creighton had seen them before, when on more conventional excur- sions. Now he cursed himself for being so easily deceived. But by this time the swimmer was accus- tomed to the water. His skin was aglow with exercise. He turned about and struck out leisurely for the sheltered nook where he had undressed. But, alas! The laughter of the loon had been prophetic. Scarce a dozen strokes and he heard the sharp report of a gun some distance back of the bushes that lined the shore. It was followed by another. Then came a wild yell. Frightened motionless, the young man stood to his shoulders in water, staring in the direction of the sound. The next instant there burst through to comicaoolkks