The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

FOUR SPEEDS FOR FOREST HILL. “There’s one more point about the scheme as I promised it to Arlene. Of course, for the present, you'll be under a salary, and I’m only going to give you five thousand a year. For one year, you’ve an option to buy the whole business for two thousand dollars. I really think it’s worth ten times what it was worth when-you sold it to me for two hundred.” Orton laughed. “‘Why, I’ve got nearly a thousand now. I'll take a half interest—”’ “Vou’ve got a thousand now?” Atherton asked in astonishment. “Ves—I never knew until yesterday that Arlene had deposited the price of the car in the bank to my credit.” “Oh,” Atherton came back with: a laugh of his own, ‘‘that won’t go now. Engage- ment presents are all on again, I suppose.”’ And Orton’s gaiety and joy sank again to zero. ‘I’m afraid not, after the language she heard up-stairs.”’ ‘“Um-m-m,” Atherton hummed. “It was some language. I’m not sure, but I'll get rid of you as a son-in-law yet. Well—I’ve got to hurry to a directors’ meeting. Good- vid “Er—I haven’t thanked you, Mr. Ather- ton,” Orton suddenly remembered. ‘‘I—oh, good Lord! Why don’t they have some nice words as strong as the other kind. I can’t cuss than ‘““No—and you'd better apologize to Ar- lene for some of your other cussing,” Ather- ton admonished. Orton followed him out to the car, where Arlene was waiting. But the girl regarded him with cold eyes and a look of indignation he had never seen on her face before. “T thought you were a gentleman,” she said frigidly, and gave the chauffeur the command to start. Orton spent the rest of the day with Simpson. Over and over he tried to pull himself together, to rouse himself to some interest in the business he must learn in a fortnight. Was he, he asked himself, ut- terly incapable of maintaining enthusiasm for one thing? He shook his head. He had lost Arlene. No penitence could blot out this offense. A profane man may quit swearing from re- ligious motives or others. The kind of gen- tleman Arlene had believed Orton never has to quit swearing for any motive. “Say, old man, I guess I’d better finish this little lesson to-morrow. You don’t 653 seem to be up to yourself. I’ve another important engagement I intended to cut; but I guess I may as well keep it.”’ Simp- son spoke with a trace of irritation in his tone. ‘“T-_[’m sorry,” ily. “T’ve just time to make it,” Simpson said with more irritation. ‘‘Good afternoon.” Orton sat dully staring at long rows of figures, piles of papers. The engineer blew the whistle. Orton heard the men stamping their way out into the early darkness. The stenographer vanished from the room. He sat on. No, he would not give up now—not even for this afternoon. Arlene should find out that she had not wrought in vain to redeem him from his changeableness and lack of perseverance. He would keep on—and keep on—and keep on—even if her proud, disappointed, disdainful face persist- ed in coming between him and the figures all night. “Say, mister!” It was the watchman, who had never seen Orton in the place before. ‘“’There’s a messenger boy outside with a letter for Mr. Orton. It don’t be for you, does it?” Orton made a two days’ job of assorting papers for himself in his rush to get to that boy. The boy went off with a dollar of his hard-earned money. Orton came back to the light in the office. DEAR Harpy: Please pardon me for being so harsh this morning. I—well, I was rather shocked at what you said to that man. I never dreamed that gentlemen used such language. But— what do you think? I happened to be in my room when father lost a collar button a few minutes ago. And —I hope you'll never learn all the things he said. So I suppose I’ll have to forgive you after all. Won’t you try to get over to talk about spending that bet? Orton responded gloom- Orton gave a hasty, rueful glance at the mess of papers. Then he pulled the roll top of the desk down over them with a bang. “T’m afraid I’m not going to stick out the night after all,” he muttered, chuckling. “Bless the scheming old rascal’s heart. I don’t believe he ever said damn before in his life. George! I’m going to get up Forest Hill yet. But I’ve been mixed up for fair on my controls. This low speed is the high after all.” THE END. Go NOOK (C@