The Argosy, September 1915 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. “You think he’ll be able to man- age?’ ventured Mrs. Witherbee. She had never met Billy Kellogg in the flesh, but had heard reports. “Hell manage or I'll break his neck,” said Mr. Davidson savagely. “And I guess I won't have to do that either. Why, ma’am, he’s a changed person, so Hastings & Hatch tell me. On the job at eight-thirty every morn- ing, half an hour for lunch, sticking to it till five and six o’clock every night. A regular horse for work, ma’am! Hang it if I don’t think he’s earned a vacation—the scoundrel! ” Rosalind strolled away from the group as Mr. Davidson prepared to make his departure for Clayton. She wondered 1f the boatman would have the hardihood to show himself again in his stolen raiment. Slow but persistent footfalls behind her warned her that she was being fol- lowed. Finally she turned and beheld Mr. Morton. “Strolling?” he asked in vacuous tones. She answered with a nod that was not meant to encourage. “JT might go along?” he suggested. “You might, I suppose.” Rosalind once more sought the cool softness of the grass underfoot, with the tall and evidently preoccupied Eng- lishman at her elbow. “Oh, I say, Miss Chalmers,” he ex- claimed abruptly after they had walked in silence for several minutes. ee Yes? 9 ‘“ Would you—er—do you think you could—er—imarry me?” Rosalind eyed him with frank aston- ishment. A smile trembled on her lips, but she did not allow it to blossom. ‘“T—er—love you tremendously, you know, Miss Chalmers.” : “Really? ” “Oh, as sure as you live. think you could, you know?” “Tm afraid I neither would nor could, Mr. Morton,” she said placidly. “Hum! Ha! By Jove, but that’s beastly hard luck, Miss Chalmers! ”’ Do you 299 Rosalind hovered between offense and amusement. She did not know whether the eighteenth or the nine- teenth offer was a compliment or other- wise. She compromised by admitting to herself that she was bored. ‘ Rotten luck,” he repeated musing- ly, stroking his yellow mustache. ‘You speak as 1f it were a game of chance.”’ _“ I—er— = Oh, I beg pardon. No offense whatever intended — really. Only you see these things go awfully hard with a fellow, Miss Chalmers.” “ After less than a week’s acquaint- ance? ”’ “ Ah, but you know I’m an impetu- ous chap. That’s the worst of it.” Rosalind laughed in spite of her ef- forts to check the outburst. He did not appear to notice it, so wholly was he engrossed with his own misfortune —and his mustache. “Then I suppose there’s no hope? ” “Oh, none whatever! ”’ “Thanks awfully, you know. It’s downright good of you to take it in such a sporting way.” “ T?m—I’m trying to bear it,” she said, choking. With a deep bow Mr. Morton ex- cused himself and stalked silently away. Rosalind looked after him, shaking with mirth. “That makes the score two to- night,” remarked a voice from behind her. She turned quickly. The boatman had appeared as if by magic. ‘“Favesdropper!’’ she said temptuously. “Couldn’t help it the first time,” he explained. “ Had to hide from Reg- gy. Do you always turn him down that way?” She ignored the question. ““As for the second case,’ added Sam, jerking his finger in the direction of the departing Englishman, “ I'll ad- mit I followed you. But it wasn’t for the purpose of overhearing a man get his death - sentence. I wanted to see you about something.” con- EOPNICLOOKS (E@)