The Argosy, April 1912 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

150 THE ARGOSY. the shore a_ disheveled, foreign-looking fellow, dark, unshaven, yet wearing his rude garments with a certain picturesqueness that reminded the swimmer of a stage tramp. Plainly the man was a fugitive. He paused for a moment and looked back fear- fully. He swept the horizon with his eye, as though mistrusting that he might be cut off in front. With that he saw at his feet the neatly folded, tailor-made suit and the custom- wrought, silk under clothing. A look of extreme surprise was followed at once by one of great joy. Never on vaudeville stage had Creighton Avery beheld so expeditious a “lightning change act.” Before he realized the intent of the newcomer, the tramp had shed his clothes to the skin. Then he pounced on the garments of the man who, ironically enough, was just now playing the part of “the submerged tenth.”’ At that Creighton found speech. “Here. Drop those clothes, my man!” he shouted, clambering for the shore. “My man” looked up with a flitting ex- pression of fear. He had not before noticed the owner of the garments he was appropri- ating. But fear changed at once to a threat, as he beheld the unimpressive looking object in the water. He seized a handy bit of rock, and waved it threateningly toward Creigh- ton’s head. “Back! Back!” he shouted. Mr. Avery obeyed like a puppy being cuffed from the dining-table. Mournfully he watched without further protest, while the tramp completed his borrowed toilet. It was over in an instant, and the wonder- fully rehabilitated wanderer, with a mock- ing wave of the hand at Creighton, dis- appeared swiftly in a direction opposite to the one whence he came. Instantly Creighton bounded out of the water, and stood over the pile of tattered raiment left him in exchange, trembling with mingled chill and rage. Then he heard voices in the distance. A moment only he hesitated. He must cover his person with something. There was no alternative. So, swallowing his loathing, almost as quickly as the tramp had shed them, he draped in the soiled, worn goods his own fastidious limbs. As he completed the distasteful job, his eye caught a reflection of the result mirrored in the water of a little cove at his feet. His nearest friend would not have recognized in that shabby figure the aristo- cratic Creighton Avery. Even the face, with its twenty-four-hour growth of black stubble, topped by tousled hair, had under- gone a metamorphosis. If he had only shaved! A lightning change, indeed! CHAPTER II. A FUGITIVE FROM THE UNKNOWN. “THis way!” ‘““Mebbe he tuk to the water.” “Did you see him?” “Jest got a glimpse of the beggar. Had a black suit an’ a red shirt. Ol soft gray hat on.” “Let him have another shot ef ye ketch sight of him.” These words, shouted as between men some distance apart, came through the shrubbery to Avery, accompanied by the sound of rushing feet in the underbrush. Evidently the chap with whom he had changed garments was much wanted. The young man thought of the shots he had just heard. The fellow must be some desperate criminal. He turned to meet the oncomers, bent on helping them in the chase, in which he him- self was so vitally interested. Then a burning though flashed through his brain. Here he was in the criminal’s clothes! The man’s pursuers had caught only a fleeting glimpse of that outfit, and had evidently not seen the man’s face clearly. They were going to shoot him on sight. The conclusion was obvious. Creighton Avery, the blameless, was for the instant, at least, translated into the person of a flee- ing criminal. But what was the crime? The shots suggested murder! He would take no chances. Flight looked good to him. Just then a crackling in the brush close at hand dispelled any further hesitancy. With a speed he had not equaled since he resigned from the Yale track team five years before, Avery dashed up the beach. Simultaneously, a determined - looking farmer, armed with a double-barreled shot- gun, broke from the underbrush. ‘There was another report, and the runner heard something sing past his ears. comicaoolkks CO