The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

PAT SS. water and swim until I am picked up. Won't it be awfully thrilling!” “And your brother will be the officer in question?” She laughed. “Ves. You know he rather disliked the idea because of the fact that the govern- ment might object to one of its officers acting in the movies. But as he is to wear a false mustache, no one save perhaps his brother officers and a few soldiers will know of it—and they won’t think anything about it, because he is doing it to oblige me, his sister.” Captain Granger looked up and laugh- ingly assented to this theory, adding that his sister was altogether too popular for her own good at the fort. “Helen,” Lansing said at length, “I want you to understand that I have no possible objection to your entering into this thing. I am not narrow. But—well, I am wealthy, and I ask you to make these fort pictures your last, fifty thousand dollars or no fifty thousand.”’ She looked at him, blushing and smiling. “You ton’t know how queer and yet how nice it seems to have a master; I hear and obey my good lord.” She bowed in mock humility. “What’s all this anyway?” cried Cap- tain Granger, who had been able to with- draw himself sufficiently from his own de- votions to Dorothy Nealis to catch the last few remarks of his sister. “Why,” responded Lansing, stepping for- ward, and taking the girl’s hand, “it means only that I have asked Helen to be my wife—and that she has agreed—ouch!” The exclamation was the result of a ring- ing. slap upon his’ shoulder delivered by Nealis. “Great work, old chap. Beat, me, did you! Fine for you!” Dorothy Nealis was laughing excitedly and Captain Granger, who knew of Lansing by reputation, smiled approvingly. “fT am glad all of you are pleased,” grinned Lansing, “and now that we all understand each other I have another prop osition to make; when do you pull off your thriller?” “To-morrow.” “Well, I’m going along, perhaps to play a minor part. I’ve often wanted to see my- self as others see me, and besides, Helen,” he added, “I have no intention of permit- ting you to leap into the water without my 707 being near. Some one might forget to pick you up in the excitement.”’ ‘Nonsense,’ scoffed Helen. None the less, Lansing was_ persistent and it was-finally arranged that he should report at the fort the next morning at Io o’clock when the sun would be in the proper position for the pictures. “And now,” Dorothy Nealis interposed, “that we have had our little scene I think we ought to go out and join the merry throng. Although,” she added, ‘I think it would be much nicer if we sent Arnold out and remained here. But we can’t do that, of course.” Captain Granger led the way from the conservatory and Lansing claimed Helen for the dance then in progress. It was their first dance and both were finished exponents of the art. The two swung in and out with intoxicating smooth- ness and grace, his face sometimes brushing her wonderful hair, his eyes gazing into hers. “Stewart,” she said at length, “you mustn’t hold me so tightly. You are shock- ing people.” “Am I?” smiled Lansing. do we care for people?”’ ‘““Nothing,” she blushed, ‘“‘only if you are going to be so loverlike, can’t we go some- where where—where we will be by our- selves?” For reply Lansing stopped short, and taking her by the arm, escorted her out on the veranda, following this around the rear of the house until they reached the back steps. Before them lay an Italian garden, the marble decorations showing ghostly white in the moonlight, the trees and plants sharply defined in the poetic dimness. They walked along the path as rural swains saunter along a country road, her arm about his neck, his about her waist, talking those soft sentimental things which are the vocabulary of lovers the world over. At length they seated themselves on one of the marble benches, and Lansing, taking a cigarette from his case, struck a match. In order to kindle a strong light he formed a cup of his hands, the palms facing outward, according to a habit learned at sea. This cup converted the flickering match into a very fair substitute for a searchlight, and the long yellow ray cast forth landed upon the form which, as it seemed to Lansing, was just diving behind a clump of plants for concealment. “Well, what COMIC OOOKS (C©@)