The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

FOUR SPEEDS FOR FOREST HILL. Really, Orton had been waiting for the haze in which to see the face. Of course, a certain number of romantic millionairesses have been running away with chauffeurs ever since coachmen went out of style for elopement purposes. But Arlene Atherton was not the sort of girl to elope with a chauffeur. And Orton—vwell, he would have considered it deliberately un- friendly if you had called him a chauffeur. Wherefore, being a plain business man, he had kept his head, and waited for the Rollerton Motor Car agency before pro- posing to the daughter of a near-millionaire. Of course, he had not known that it was the Rollerton agency he was waiting for. He had thought he was waiting for real money, instead of the three or four thou- sand a year he had made with other cars. But now he knew. If half a day’s sell- ing Rollertons totaled twelve times twenty per cent. of eight hundred and forty-nine dollars, there being two halves to each day, and three hundred and sixty-five automo- bile selling days in every year, a year’s sell- ing of Rollertons totaled real money. Roll- ertons and real money were synonymous. Why, then, should he wait a year or so, and give all that chance to some other fel- low whose real money happened to be in a bank, instead of a Rollerton agency? No why at all, not since he was Hardy Orton. , Even if Hardy Orton had considered pa- tience a virtue to boast of, he could not have done any boasting. Hardy was a be- liever in the great American rule of life: Grab while the grabbing is good. “Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” he said to five sure customers and nine or ten dubious ones, as he picked up his telephone and called for a number on the Branch Brook Central. While he waited he called for the “helper” of Herman, his repair man. He told the youth to go out and bring in sand- wiches and some coffee. He was too busy to eat a regular meal. “Ts Miss Atherton in?” he asked the voice that finally answered his call. He knew then that Fortune had adopted him to-day for her own fair-haired son. Arlene was in. : “This is Hardy,” he told her. He had never got to the first-names point before, but he could afford to try it now. ‘Hardy Orton,” he had to elucidate, however, be- fore she identified him. “Oh, how do you do?” the girl inquired, 579 avoiding any name for him. ‘‘Where are you, anyhow?” “Right down on Broad Street, opposite Central Avenue,” he told her. “T thought you were selling the Firefly cars on Washington Street,” she answered. ‘“T was—I’m selling Rollertons now. And, believe me, I’m selling some, too. But I called up to know if you have anything on for this evening.” She hesitated an instant, and took refuge in doubt. “I’m not quite sure,” she said slowly. “Why do you want to know?” “Why, I thought maybe you’d like to take a spin, or something,” he responded. ‘Oh, in the new car? Say—is it a little car?” she answered with a question. ‘Well, it’s no truck,” he answered; “but I wanted you to try out the big junk run- about.” ° ‘‘How much is this little car of yours?” she persisted in her own line of inquiry. ‘‘Eight-forty-nine,”’ he answered, impa- tiently; “just marked down from eight- fifty.” “Ts it any good?” “Of course, it’s good. Look who’s selling it. But I—” ‘Say, is there any chance of getting one of those cars before Christmas?” she in- terrupted. ‘You can get one in a week if you want one.” “Why, yes, I’ll be delighted to take a ride in one of them. I might buy it. Father’s promised to let me have a little car to drive myself. I’ve tried to get a dozen different makes, and they all want me to wait for delivery until some time next sum- mer. What time can you get up here?” A moment later he looked up at the wait- ing faces of the would-be next purchasers. “Phew!” he exclaimed, “‘it’s going some when you can’t make a date to take out a girl without selling another car! LEvery- body’s buying it.” After all, it might be a lot better to take her out to demonstrate a car than not to take her out at all. CHAPTER II. MOONLIGHT, A MOTOR AND A MAIDEN. R icuT here we might as_ well explain about the “junk car,” to Which Hardy Orton had referred in his telephone colloquy. Up to the time when he was called up by COPMICLOOKS (E@)