The Argosy, September 1915 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. “Ho there, somebody! Wonder you wouldn’t welcome a guest!” Simultaneously a tall, bulky figure appeared at the edge of the lawn and crossed at a rapid walk. It stopped at the foot of the steps. Two grips that were carried in one hand were tossed upon the porch with a flirt of the wrist. Then followed a trunk, which had been balanced jauntily on one shoulder. And then Reggy Williams cleared five steps in one leap and began shaking hands with everybody. “Nice folks!” he shouted. “ Nota soul to meet a fellow! Hello, Rosa- lind; you're looking fine and fit. Hello, Gertrude! Hello, Tom, you lazy mucker! Why didn’t you give me a hand? Didn’t know I'd be here so soon, eh? I’ve a good mind to carry you down to the river and chuck you in.” He charged about the porch like a nervous rhinoceros, bawling salutations and leaving in his wake an array of painfully throbbing fingers. Reginald Williams stood six feet three. He was wide and thick and boisterous, and there was a deep red tan on his face that actually served to exaggerate his bulk. Mrs. Witherbee, her hands clasped to her bosom, regarded him with horror. “Won't you — please — take a chair? ” she whispered timidly. “Chair? Why, thanks—if you'll stick it in front of a table. I haven’t had a mouthful since noon, and I don’t mind saying I can eat anything and everything you've got in the house. Here, Tom! Don’t fuss with that trunk; I’ll take care of that later.” Mr. Witherbee cautiously pushed a porch rocker against Reginald’s legs. “We'll get you some grub,” he said anxiously. ‘‘ Only sit down first. Rest yourself, old man.” “Rest! That’s all I’ve done all day in a train that didn’t have ambition enough to keep within two hours of her schedule. I could have pushed the blamed thing faster than it went.” 275 “Yes, yes,’ said Mr. Witherbee, his brow furrowed in anxiety. “ But just sit down a bit. Enjoy the air — it’s great up here. See that view—isn’t it amazing? Everything so quiet, so peaceful! Oh, it just puts ten years on a man’s life to spend a little while up here!. No worry, no cares, no ex- citement.”’ Reginald sat reluctantly, “No excitement!” he exclaimed. “Then, by George, we'll make some! How do you live without it? I can’t. I’m going to start something, sure as you live. But Id like to eat first.” The Witherbee family ventured in- quiring glances at Rosalind. That lady’s face bore a curious expression of doubt and dismay. But she did not lose her self-control. Stepping behind Reginald’s chair, she raised a finger to her lips and shook her head warningly. “Tl get you some toast directly,” said Mrs. Witherbee. “ And how do you like your tea?” Reginald guffawed, then apologized. “ Excuse me; didn’t mean to be rude. But if you’ve got any cold ham in the house, and some bread and butter, and a scuttle of hot coffee you needn’t bother about the toast and tea. And you needn't fetch it out here; lead me to it.” The Winter girls exchanged appre- hensive glances. Mr. Witherbee made a sign to his wife, who disappeared into the house. Rosalind followed her. The two ladies met in the pantry. ‘““I—I'm frightened to death,” whis- pered Mrs. Witherbee. “Is he always that way?” “ Nearly always,” sighed Rosalind. “ That’s what makes it so sad.” “T hadn’t thought of it as being sad, my dear. It—it just seems sort of ter- rible. Doesn’t he know?” “Ssh! Of course not. even suspect.” “The poor man!” said Mrs. With- erbee softly. “ Then it is sad, isn’t it? Isn’t there any way to—control him?” “It’s very difficult,” admitted Rosa- lind. ‘‘He’s headstrong. And of COPMICLOOOKS He doesn’t (E@)