The Argosy, September 1915 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. from the cabin, staring ruefully at a sheet of paper that was in his hand. “You tore down my picture-gal- lery,” he said reproachfully. .“ Why did you do that?” Rosalind flushed and compressed her lips. “T thought quite a lot of that pic- ture,” ” he mused, seating himself again, “It seemed like such a good likeness.” ~ + ou: beast ‘“ That’s not the way to make friends with him,” cautioned the boatman. “TI mean you! ” “Oh! Well, that’s make friends with me, either. you like my portrait of a lady?’ “Tm coming down!” she warned not the way to Didn't desperately. “TI wouldn’t—yet. He can really bite, ma’am. Have you been there long? ”’ “ An hour.” “Ts it comfortable up there?”’ She remained grimly silent. It was not comfortable. The limb was very hard and its diameter was meager. Her feet were asleep. The boatman returned to a study of the “ portrait.” He even began to read aloud from it, when Rosalind stopped him with an imploring exclamation. ‘“ Please—please!”’ she cried. “ But it’s such a good portrait,” he protested, looking up at her mildly. “It’s a new kind of art. It’s got the cubists beaten a mile. Statist, I sup- pose you'd call it. It gives all the dope—just draws a picture in facts and figures. I’m strong for it. “Listen. Here’s where you—” “Stopl” “You are the daughter of—” “Oh, will you stop?” He paused in his reading and ob- served her attentively. What he saw appeared to please him. Rosalind was never more charming. She was a god- dess, all in white save for the fiery tint in her cheeks and the dangerous glint in her blue eyes. “Say,” he said with sudden inter- it says 281 est, “ how’d you get up there, anyhow? It’s some climb.” **T—I had to climb.” “Meaning he pushed you pretty hard,” nodding at the dog. “Of course!” “Td have given a lot to have seen you make it,” he mused. “If I call him off will you do it again? ”’ She flushed hotly and shot him a look of stinging contempt. He never winced, “You see,” he explained, “ there’s no branch below the one you're sitting on. And that’s a good ten feet up. You must have jumped for it and swung yourself up, or else you shinned the tree. In either case it was a stunt that’s a credit to you. I’m certainly sorry | missed it—ma’am.” He drawled the last word with mad- dening emphasis. Rosalind was in despair. It was not fear of the dog—now. She knew that Sam would not dare to let the animal attack, even if she descended from her refuge. It was fear of the boatman’s mocking eyes. He was smiling. What would he do when she, Rosalind the dignified, began the scramble that must precede her arrival at terra firma? Dignity scarcely sat with her on the limb, even now; it would be a thousand miles away when she made the first decisive move. It was a sense of dig- nity wholly that restrained Rosalind. She did not care particularly about her ankles; she was not ashamed of them and had no reason to be. But she was bitterly resolved that she would cling to the very end to whatever shred of haughty poise remained to her. Temper loosed her tongue again. = Thief! Smuggler! » she ex- claimed. “ They'll make short work of you when I’m free from this.” “ Well, we're all little pals together,” he observed serenely. 66 Spy! 2? “Say, that was a funny one, wasn’t it?” he said, brightening. ‘“ Me und Schmidt—spies! That was one you never even thought of, ma’am.” CORMICOOOKS (C@)