The Argosy, September 1915 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. It’s the affair of seventeen or eighteen perfectly nice young men—lI wish to goodness [ could remember the exact count! Seventeen or eighteen eligible men—all ready to marry you if you say the word.” * All!” exclaimed Rosalind in a shocked tone. “ Why, Mrs. Wither- bee! ”’ “Well, you know what I mean,” de- clared Mrs. Witherbee. ‘Of course you wouldn’t marry them all. But it could be any one of the seventeen or eighteen. Now, couldn’t it, Rosa- lind?” Rosalind sighed, not because she was either romantic or pensive, but out of sheer despair. “T presume it could be,” she admit- ted. “Oh, you heart-breaker!” chided Mrs. Witherbee confidentially. “T’m not!” declared Rosalind stout- ly. ‘ There isn’t a broken heart among them. Their hearts are all perfectly sound and serviceable. They’re not only air-cooled, but water-jacketed, and not one of them ever had a misfire on my account.” “Rosalind! What in the world are you talking about?” “Oh, well, please let’s not talk about it any more. I can’t stop them from asking me, can 1?” ? “No, but— Why, some of us won- der if you ever will be married!” Rosalind shook her head wearily. “Oh, I suppose I'll be married some day; most women are. Meantime, what’s the use of considering and plot- ting and planning, or even bothering about it? When a girl wants to get married she can do ‘it—any time. There’s nothing mysterious or unpre- cedented about it. It’s been done sev- eral times, I believe.” “You’re so cynical, Rosalind.” “T’m not—not in the least. I’m merely sane. Listen, now! Whose voice is that? You seem to have call- Sis.” “Tt sounds like Mr. Davidson,” said Mrs. Witherbee, listening. ‘ He’s one 251 o> of our neighbors. Shall we go and seer” They walked to the front of the house, where a group of persons stood in a circle around an elderly man who talked volubly. “Come and listen to this,” advised Mr. Witherbee, beckoning. ‘‘ Davidson had a thief last night, too. Same one, probably. Miss Chalmers, let me pre- sent Mr. Davidson—one of our island neighbors.” | Mr. Davidson bowed briefly, then re- sumed his recital in a voice that Rosa- lind remembered quite well. “We thought he was all alone at first. He started up his launch, and then he had a breakdown. Thought I had him sure then. But, by fingo! Do you know there was another fellow lying out there in a rowboat? fle was keeping watch, I suppose. The second chap climbed into the launch, and they managed to get things start- ed again. “Even then we'd have had ’em in a fair race. He cut loose his rowboat after a while, and we smashed into that; we didn’t stop to pick up the splinters. That delayed us a little, of course. “But he put one over on us by slip- ping through that channel that splits Houghton’s Island. I wouldn’t take a chance on it. By the time we went around the island he wasn’t in sight.” “A pair of them, you said?” asked Mr. Witherbee. “A whole gang, likely enough; but we saw only two. Don’t know whether I hit any of ’em or not.” “Anything stolen?” “Now, there’s the queer part,” af- firmed Mr. Davidson. ‘“ Not a blessed thing, so far as we can discover, un- less it was something out of the library that we haven't been able to locate as yet. “He seemed to have spent all his time in the library, as nearly as I can find out. He had a lot of books out on the floor. Perhaps he thought we hid things behind them. We can’t COMIC DOOKS (C@