The Argosy, September 1915 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

270 she declared coldly. “It is not my intention to have my word ques- tioned.” He shrugged indifferently. “Oh, very well, Miss Chalmers! How many in the party? Space is limited, you know.” “ Myself — Mr. Morton — perhaps half a dozen others.” ‘““Miss Dawson?” he asked. Rosalind looked at him in quick astonishment. “Because I can’t take Miss Daw- son,” he added. “You mean-to say—” “ What I really meant to say was ‘won't’ instead of ‘can’t.’ I won't take Miss Dawson.” For an instant Rosalind was quite too surprised for speech, a condition easily apparent to Sam, who volun- teered further: “No use to ask questions, Chalmers. I'll give no reasons.” “This is the most unheard-of thing yet!” she exclaimed. “ You mean to say that you presume to select my own guests for me?” “No, ma’am; not exactly, But in this case— Here they come now. I guess it’s all right; I don’t see her.” Morton appeared on the wharf, followed by the Winter girls and Fortescue Jones. “This will be all, I think,” he said. Rosalind did not meet the boat- man’s eye as the party embarked. She had a feeling that there would be an insulting gleam of satisfaction in it. For fully half an hour after they left the wharf she was a silent mem- ber of the party, engrossed in wonder- ment over this new development. It seemed to possess no meaning what- ever; at least, none that she could even speculate upon. He would not take Polly Dawson in his boat. Sam sat stolidly in the stern, smo- king and watching the river. Occa- sionally his glance wandered to Mor- ton, yet incuriously, This passenger seemed to possess no more interest for him than the Winter girls or the Miss THE ARGOSY. young man who toiled unskilfully over a jointed rod. As for Morton, the existence of the steersman did not appear to be within his ken, Suddenly Rosalind remembered. She had come to study, not to fish. She had contrived a meeting so that she might observe a result. It was an experiment in human alchemy; put her Englishman and her boatman to- gether and she felt that a reaction was inevitable. So now she began to ob- serve, Disappointment did not improve her temper. There was no reaction— no smoke, no fire, no explosion. They did not speak, neither did they ex- change furtive glances. They were maddeningly at ease. Rosalind was soon disgusted with her experiment. She was quite willing to abandon it. But the Jones young man was fish- ing by this time. Two strikes and two misses had rewarded his efforts, and he was wrought to a pitch of absorbed excitement. Rosalind felt she was doomed to a dull afternoon, It had now degenerated into a common fish- ing-party, even though there was but one fisherman, and it did not lie in her mouth to explain that it was never meant to be an angling affair at all. She attempted to put her mind into a state of resignation, the most diffi- cult mental feat she ever attempted, and one at which she usually met failure. Morton was dull when he talked at,all. He was three per cent conversation and ninety-seven per cent silence. The Winter girls knitted as if it were a penance. There was mo- mentary hope when Fortescue Jones broke the tip of his rod, but that took wings when he produced another. Only the boatman truly enjoyed himself. Hatless, he reveled in the sun that bathed his head and bared neck. His pipe was drawing smooth- ly and steadily. But, most wonderful of all, his engine pulsated as rhymthic- ally and surely as the power-plant of a six-thousand- dollar limousine. It was fairly uncanny in its perfection. COPMICLOOOKS (E@