The Argosy, September 1915 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. the islands, will be sold at three o'clock to-morrow afternoon for the benefit of the war sufferers in Europe. If you cannot add your mite to the collection, you are cordially invited to attend the sale and become a purchaser, and incidentally a helper in a noble cause. Mr. Heinrich Schmidt of Chicago has kindly consented to act as auction- eer. Rosalind clutched at something to steady herself and found that she was grasping the sleeve of the bell-boy. — “ Ouch, ma’am!’”’ he exclaimed as her fingers bit sharply into his arm. “Would you like a glass of water, ma’am? ”’ She released her victim and shook her head. The boy saluted and went back to his bench. Horror of horrors! And the With- erbees had done this thing! Her bracelet—that dull circlet of gold that once girdled the arm of a princess of Egypt—that strange and_ beautiful bauble that had not its match in the whole world—was to be vulgarly hawked to a rabble by a grain-broker named Schmidt who came from Chi- cago! : The picture that flashed into her mind made her shudder with disgust. There would be a_ bargain-counter rush, a noisy clamor of voices shout- ing offers—putting a price on her bracelet! And it would be held aloft in the fat, ruthless hand of Schmidt, dangled before the eyes of a mob, while he goaded them to bid higher and higher! “Never!” clenched teeth. Valiant resolution! Yet in the same instant she realized her impotence to carry it into effect. The case was securely locked. Besides, there were other persons in the lobby. She felt sure at the very least that the bell-boy was watching her. She could summon the Witherbees, of course—they who had done this awful thing—but that meant confes- sions and complications—and ridicule! she muttered through 301 She might come to-morrow and buy her own bracelet, rub elbows with a scrambling and motley crowd, and match her lungs and her purse against the hardiest of them. But her very soul shrank from that; she knew that she could not do it. Better never see _ the bracelet again. Yet Rosalind would not for an in- stant yield weakly to what seemed the inevitable and permanent loss of her dearly prized property. She was brim- ming with fight, even though she did not know how to fight, or whom. “Tl get it!’ she whispered grimly. “Til get it if I have to burn down the hotel.” As she glanced helplessly about her, her eyes met those of Reggy Williams, approaching from the doorway that led to the ballroom. Here was fresh dismay. Reggy could not—must not—look into that fateful showcase! He was coming to her swiftly, and Rosalind, pulling her- self together sharply, advanced to meet him. 7 ‘“What’s the attraction?” he asked, looking over her shoulder. “Oh, nothing. Let’s go out on the porch.” “But what’s the stuff in the glass case? ”’ he persisted, trying to dodge past her. She grasped him firmly by the arm. “Please take me outside, Reggy,” she said. “‘ I want some air. Nothing there but some things they’re going to sell for the Belgians. They’re—not interesting.” It was Rosalind who took Reggy outside, rather than Reggy who assist- ed Rosalind. She did it with an ex- pedition and a determination that puz- zled him, particularly when, having walked him to the farther end of the porch, she turned him over to Polly Dawson with a severe injunction— whispered—to make him sit down and keep quiet for half an hour. Then with a swift seizure of oppor- tunity Rosalind escaped to the lawn and walked out among the trees, stern COPMICLOOOKS (C@)