The Argosy, August 1914 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

Sane THE ARGOSY. rett had voiced desire rather than ex- act truth. He paused on the curb, questioning where he could find her. The chances were that she would have left the theater, but it might be as well to look there first. He had money in his pocket, and, consequent- ly, hailed a taxi and was driven to the Buckingham. The playhouse was dark, front and rear. ‘The next port of call was the apartment - house where she lived, in what has come to be known as the new Tenderloin. On the way thither he had time to reflect. It was a pastime to which he was little given, but the stimulus was unusual. His mind was a singular jumble of shame at his defeat, regret at the rup- ture with Sam Levine, and defiance of the world and its standards. Instinc- tive honesty compelled him to admit that he had not played fair with his manager. He had run straight for several months before yielding to the tempta- tions which always assail the success- ful -prize-fighter. Then, at the psy- chological moment when he was ready for diversion, he had met Vesta Dawn. —had met her, as he remembered viv- idly, through Butch Horlock just after he had signed for to-night’s battle. She was generally known as Butch’s girl. ‘This had only added zest to the gratification Jack Garrett experienced from her ready acceptance of his fa- vors. It gave a tang to the relation- ship, making the men doubly rivals. Jack had had no prevision at the earlier meetings of more than a pass- ing acquaintance. He sensed very dimly even yet how really clever the girl was. Her coyness had _ only sharpened desire. Well, he had been fool enough to pick up her challenge to attend the party the night before “ because it was her birthday,” and dearly had he paid. Now it was due him she should reward him with full meed of sympathy for his down fall. And, anyway, there was the satisfac- tion of having taken Butch Horlock’s girl from him—an empty, boyish satis- faction immensely savory to callow youth. The Butcher had not been in- vited to Vesta’s party. She herself had told him so. «Fhe taxi drew up in front of the apartment - house where Vesta lived. The hall-boy told Jack Miss Dawn had not come home. Hus disappointment showed in the caller’s face. ‘“Ah’ll tell her you was here, suh,” said the lad. His interested air was worth a quarter to Jack. He paid it eratefully. There was one chance left. She might have gone to the Grapery. This was an all-night restaurant close to the spirituous center of that bedlam known as the Great White Way. It was a favorite resort of Vesta’s. Thither he made his way. The Grapery was crowded, as was to have been expected at this hour. It breathed an atmosphere of artificial delight Ves- ta Dawn had taught Jack to enjoy. From the platform at one end where an orchestra scraped tirelessly, a low dock ran out among the tables. This was the structure on which hired per- formers, mostly female, disported themselves in an intimate way, sup- posed by patrons of the Grapery to be extremely Parisian. As Jack entered a blond young person in draperies of black mosquito netting was doing fancy steps in and out among the late diners and assuring them that she was only a timid country maiden who had never been in a large city before, or words to that general effect. Such of the patrons as paid any at- tention whatever to her remarkable statements seemed not in the least con- cerned about the girl’s experiences. Most of those present, however—and the room was crowded to the very door —turned a deaf ear. Their attention was concentrated on their food, their drinks, and their private concerns. Being in need of sympathy himself, Jack may have been in a mood to sym- COMMICLOO® S (C@