The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

AN APPENDIX AND A CARBURETER. “No!” he retorted firmly; “‘we were not. Did you think— Who told you— Oh, my Lord! You thought we were eloping!” “T certainly did think you were eloping,”’ said Teronne, and a happy contentment ran through her. ‘You looked guilty enough for it. Remember how you stood out here gazing at the road and dancing from one foot to the other? That is certainly my idea of the way a young man acts when he is running off with a girl, with her father right behind.” Mr. Whitlock indulged in_ prolonged mirth. Teronne gazed down upon him sternly. “T knew all the time you weren’t look- ing for a high-boy,” she went on. “And now that we’re talking about it, what zs a high-boy?” “Tt’s an old dresser full of drawers that you can’t open,” he laughed. He paused and surveyed the girl with a whimsical smile. She was clad in a white gown, with a bit of blue ribbon at her throat, and there was a rose in her hair. She was still a trifle pallid, but her eyes were dancing and bright. : Under the pallor the faint suggestion of a flush turned her smooth cheek a trifle pink. Mr. Whitlock stared in deep and prolonged pleasure. “Well,” he said slowly, “I guess I’ve got to tell you the truth, and nothing but the truth, s’elp me Buddha. You're too nice a girl not to know everything. “In the first place, I had, and still have, not the remotest intention of marrying my- self unto Miss Sinclair. Secondly, she wouldn’t marry me, anyhow, because she’s engaged to Freddy Walthour, who has more money than an adding machine can count in three years. And, thirdly, that’s all about that. “Why I stopped the runabout in front of your nice home, and thus met nice you, is this: I have been trying to sell that doggone runabout to Miss Sinclair for some time, in spite of her dad’s protest that she doesn’t need another car, having two al- ready. But she liked the runabout, and I’m an automobile salesman, and there isn’t a better car in the world than the Wycherly. Yesterday was the first time I’ve had a chance to take the lady out on a good, long demonstration; and now come the sad facts. “The confounded carbureter began to clog up about a mile east of here, which is the first time that ever happened. Natu- rally, I didn’t want to break down while 745 demonstrating a supposedly perfect car to a prospective customer. So I just stopped here, invoked the high-boy, and, as you ob- served, fixed up the carbureter while the lady inspected your blessed aunt’s furniture. Furthermore, I tightened a loose brake, and— Well, thanks to you, I sold the ma- chine. And that’s all about that.” ‘““My goodness!” said Teronne Metcalf when he had finished. Mr. Whitlock chuckled long and enjoy- ably. Presently Aunt Martha appeared, observed the expensive machine before her house, and came wonderingly up the path, whereupon Teronne introduced her aunt to her caller. ‘It seems to me,” he said deferentially, “that a ride would do Miss Metcalf a world of good. She tells me she has sat per- fectly still for weeks, and—well, if I car- ried her out and placed her gently in the car, and then drove very gently and quietly along, with the fresh air blowing and the perfume of the flowers rising and—”’ ‘Say no more!” Teronne exclaimed, ris- ing to her feet. ‘I am going motoring, if I never do another thing, and immediately die when the ride is over.” Aunt Martha protested timidly, but her words were as a soft whisper under Niagara Falls on a windy day. Obeying the com- mands of her suddenly energetic niece, she went into the house, and returned with a coat, a hat and a blue veil. The flush in Teronne’s cheek deepened. She knew by the defiant, stern and unyield- ing glint in Whitlock’s eye that the mo- ment her hat was on her head and the veil about her face he would pick her up in his arms and forthwith carry her to the car. And I violate no one’s confidence when IT state that that was precisely what Mr. Whitlock did. In his arms Teronne felt perfectly safe and comfortable. To be sure, she blushed a bit, and she was glad she did. Aunt Martha stood on the porch, and hesitated between disap- proval and cheerfulness. Mr. Whitlock, rather reluctantly, deposited the fair invalid upon the softest cushions she had ever felt, and then took his place behind the big wheel. They started, and to Teronne it was Heaven with a capital H. “How do you feel?”? Whitlock demanded after they had covered half a dozen miles at an easy pace. ; “Tf I felt any better I’d die,” Teronne answered. Mr. Whitlock violated the steering and CORMICLOOOKS (C@)