The Argosy, September 1915 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. tired,” sighed Reginald. “I guess in order not to disappoint them I'd bet- ter go to bed. Good night.” He stamped noisily inside and up the staircase. “Ts—is he all right?” asked Mr. Witherbee in a hoarse whisper. “Oh, perfectly. We've kept him just as quiet as possible.” “That’s right; that’s right. Poor chap. And he’s so healthy to look at, too! By the way, what’s this burlap game?” Rosalind laughed. “Tt’s all on account of that stupid Jones boy,” she explained. “‘ He start- ed to blurt something about why you had gone to Mr. Davidson’s, and he had half of ‘burglar’ out when Tom bumped him with his elbow. Then I had to finish it somehow, and all I could think of was burlap. You see, it had to be something that couldn’t pos- sibly excite Reggy.” “T get you,” grinned Mr. Wither- bee. _“ Burlap, eh? Ill have to re- member to get some now.” Suddenly his expression changed and he became grave. “We've organized,” he said uarded tones. ‘“‘ There were seven islands represented. We're going to hire a patrol. Some of them are going to get watchmen, too. And it’s high time, Rosalind.” He stepped closer and looked about him cautiously. — ‘“Somebody’s been on the island again,’ he whispered. “ But don’t say anything yet!” “ Again!” “To-night, I think. stolen the dog!” “You are sure? ” ‘Positive. I tied the beast up near the dock when I went out in the boat. And he’s gone!” Rosalind could only blink at this in- telligence. “But I don’t want to worry Mrs. Witherbee about it,’ added that lady’s husband. “ And of Géurse we’ve got to keep it from Williams. So don’t Somebody’s 279 say anything. Good night. Grand watch-dog, that; I guess he needed stealing.” CHAPTER XI. TREED! T’ was early afternoon- when Sam nursed the Fifty-Fifty into the rock-bound cove that formed his island harbor, made her fast, and stepped ashore. He advanced up the winding path to his cabin. Midway in its length he paused and listened. A dog barked. The boatman resumed his adyance at a quicker pace. He caught sight of the cabin, then of an agitated red set- ter that ran to and fro beneath a tree whose branches brushed the roof of the dwelling. The animal was yelping nervously. Next the boatman saw a pair of feet, shod in snowy white and outlined sharp and clear against the dark-green fo- liage. The feet were attached to a pair of ankles, also in white—ankles that were slim, aristocratic, even haughty. Then as he stepped forward the rim of a white skirt came into view. A! second later his advance brought him to a point from which he obtained a full view of Rosalind Chalmers, sitting on the branch of a tree. “Call off your dog!” she com- manded. Sam removed his gaze from the vision in the tree and studied the ani- mal thoughtfully. The setter, having sighted the boatman, ceased baying and sat down with an alert eye upon the quarry. “The dog, I said!” said Rosalind harshly. “ Call him off!” Sam’s glance returned to the lady on the branch. “Good afternoon,” he said pleas- antly. Rosalind returned the inspection through angry eyes. ‘Are you going to call off the dog?” she demanded. EOMICLOOKS (C@)