The Argosy, September 1915 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

; ONE-CYLINDER SAM. a Rosalind bit her tip. “They’re in common circulation, all over. Anybody with three dollars can buy one.” ‘You stole it.” “That’s a compliment to you, ma’am. See the risk I ran—for a picture.” “ They—they are not for common people,” she said frigidly. Sam surveyed her leisurely. “T suppose that means me,”’ he re- marked. She answered with a gesture. “And of course you're something better than common clay,” he mused. She did not stoop to answer him. “Say!” he broke out suddenly. “Far be it from me to be impolite to a lady, particularly a lady with her portrait written in a three-dollar so- ciety book. But do you know that you make me good and tired?” The lady in the tree gasped. “ Yes: dead weary. I’ve heard about you. I read the papers sometimes. You’re one of the exclusive bunch; ‘you're in the ‘it’ class. Everybody outside of it is plain common dirt—to you. You've got the coin and the pedigree, which is supposed to make you something extra special. You're supposed to be a shade higher up than human. ‘They tell me you're a heart- breaker, too.” Rosalind turned white. “Just why you should be such a heart-breaker,” he continued, examin- ing her with a critical eye, “1s some- thing I don’t quite get. You're a good enough looker, so far as that goes, but —shucks! There ar@ lots of those. Never saw a man yet that was fit to marry you, I understand. <A sort of a man-hater, maybe. 7 “Yet you never try to head a man off if you see he’s in a fair way to get his heart cracked. That's your favorite sport, according to the dope I get. You just take it as something that is natural- ly coming to you. If it didn’t happen you'd feel insulted. Oh, yes! I’ve heard about you.” 283 She was rigid as marble and almost as breathless. “Let me tell you something—Rosie. You can’t put that stuff over on me. You can swing it across on some so- ciety guy, but it doesn’t go here. Why, I can tell things about your doings in the last forty-eight hours that “Il knock you clean out of the Blue Book. “ As I said before, I don’t want to be rude to a lady, ma’am, and I don’t intend to say anything that would hurt her feelings—not for anything. But you make me plain and plumb tired.” Rosalind was crying in sheer help- less rage. The boatman watched the tears stonily. After a short pause he arose from his seat on the ground and whistled to the dog. “You can come down if you like,” he informed her. Torn with a storm of sobs and mor- tification, Rosalind made no move to descend. He watched her for a min- ute, then went into the cabin and re- turned, dragging the table. This he placed beneath the limb where she still clung, quivering. Mounting the table, he reached up and in a most impersonal way grasped her about the waist and swung her clear of the tree. For an instant Rosa- liad found herself poised in the air. Then she was deposited on the ground. She walked a few steps and leaned weakly against the tree. The dog barked in delight. “Well, you've got to get home, I suppose,’ said Sam. “ And your boat’s gone. It’s up to me to take you. I don’t mind earning a little money. “You may as well quit crying, too. You're not hurt and -you’re not down- hearted. You're just good and mad; that’s all.” He turned to lead the way down the path, then stopped and stared through an opening in the trees. * Another visitor,” he observed with a erin. Rosalind followed the direction of his glance. Reginald Williams in a motor-launch was just making the Gomichbooks7Go