The Argosy, September 1915 — page 209: what you’re looking at

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

MISS O’PFLANNAGHAN’S ROMANCE. “ But I don’t mind going around to Jerry’s for a little while. No. 2883 First Avenue you live? All right; [Ul stop for you at eight- fifteen sharp, Miss O’Flannaghan. ”So-long! = And Edward Maroney, stoker and gentleman, picked up his shovel and retired to the depths of the furnace- room. Miss O’Flannaghan almost ran to the yard-gate. In the street outside she tumbled over a small newsboy and upset his cart, whereupon he promptly gave chase, bawling at the top of his lungs: “Cop! Cop! Around the block! Great, gawky, wall-eyed greeny! ”’ But Miss O’F lannaghan sped on un- heeding, stopping only once on the way to No. 2883. At the corner of the block there was a hair-store with alluring bargains in the way of switches and puffs displayed in the window. In the front of the window lay a set of brilliant auburn curls marked : 50 cents Miss O’Flannaghan opened her purse and counted its contents. ‘To-morrow would be pay-day. She went in the store, and in another minute an observ- ant passer-by might have seen the suave clerk remove the curls from their place of honor and hand them over the counter, wrapped in a paper bag. “ Ain’t it grand, Jim?” asked Maria as she and her partner whirled madly around the back room at Jerry’s with their cheeks tightly glued together, which is quite the mode, and is known as the postage-stamp dance in certain circles. “Don’t im?” “Sure, and I love somebody else, too,” responded Jim in an affectionate whisper, leading boldly into the center of the room and knocking against two or three couples as he went. you love the two-step, 423 ‘“Pshaw!” returned Maria, tossimg her hair back from her forehead and rearranging Jim’s flaming red necktie. ‘“‘ Ain’t you the jollier, Jim? The cutters certainly do know how to run a dance out of sight, though.” The tables had been pushed back, and festoons of red and green crape paper made a gala scene. At the bar- end of the room sat the musicians, per- spiring, out of time and tune, but never wearied as they alternated two- step and waltz, waltz and two-step, with unfailing regularity. Round and round the dancers whirled, while the fiddles scraped, the air grew thick with the smoke of free cigars, and the belles of the ball ‘ split’ dances recklessly. But in the corner by the door sat a late couple, the man in a suit of such huge checkered stuff that he looked like nothing so much as a rolled up chessboard. The woman wore her factory-dress, but her neck was gar- nished with her one bit of color—the pink bow that had adorned her pin- cushion at home; and fastened tncer- tainly over one ear was a row of vivid auburn curls in startling contrast with the rest of her hair. She was freckled, but so purple was her countenance with righteous blushes that the freckles were overpowered. “It ain’t decent,” she was saying in faltering tones to her escort, her bony fingers lacing and unlacing nervously. “They haven’t no call to dance so close foreninst each other.” Jim and Maria whirled by. “Git on to Miss O’Flannaghan and Ed,” Jim remarked. “Git on to the hair. But ain’t Ed’s suit grand? Leave me go, Jim; I’m going to make a mash on Ed.” Maria broke away from the embrace of Jim, who promptly consoled him- self with Lilly. She threw herself down in‘a chair beside Ed. Maria was sweet-scented and red-lipped, and she wore a dress of some clinging, thin, white stuff. She leaned close to Ed, until he could feel her breath warm upon his cheek. COPMIC LOOKS Con