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Pulp Fiction, 1916 · page 22 of 216

The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 22: Pulp Fiction, 1916

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204 whole camping equipment made for his car and he’ll let us have it and know how to do everything. Then Ill invite Louise De- vinne and the Sanfords—that will be seven of us with Jones driving.” Jane nodded enthusiastic assent to her own plans. “And we'll start about nine o’clock in the morning.” Aunt Martha gripped herself, visibly. “To-morrow morning?” she asked with some difficulty. Jane, looking at her stricken aunt, hesi- tated and weakened for an instant. She loved Mrs. Porter-Preston dearly and ordinarily ghe would have gone to great Jengths in the way of sparing the elder lady annoyance. Her lips parted for contrite words—but suddenly across her mental vision flashed a picture of that awful night in Batesford. Jane steeled herself and avoided Mrs. Porter-Preston’s eye. “Yes, dear, to-morrow morning, said. “Ill go and telephone them now.” “Tt’s after ten,” suggested Uncle Horace. Jane, moving swiftly toward her own rooms and her telephone, seemed not to hear. sighed and shook his head; and then, since he had been fingering the _brief-case thoughtfully, he opened it once more and glanced at the topmost packet of papers. “Horace,” said his wife, “is it possible that this thing has happened?”’ ‘“Fr—it would seem so,” Mr. Porter- Preston conceded, with a touch of preoc- cupation. “You will take the necessary legal steps at once?”’ “Of course.” Aunt Martha spoke with almost increas- ing earnestness: “You will not permit her to go on this wild trip, even if the others are insane enough to consent?”’ “Um—Jane seems badly frightened,” Uncle Horace told the brief-case. “The shock of seeing the man might prove in- jurious or—this Thompson, that is to say, seems to have made a tremendous impres- sion on her—ah—”’ ? she His voice trailed away. Mrs. Porter- Preston’s rose a trifle. “But camping out, Horace! I’m not fit for it, really. And Louise Devinne is wild and young Weston even wilder—and the Sanfords aren’t staid, you know. ‘There is no telling where they may decide to go... Uncle Horace gazed after her and. THE ARGOSY. “Of course, even they won’t- accept, on this short notice, but if they should, Hor- ace, | want you to talk very seriously to Jane, and see if it isn’t possible to have her abandon the whole idea, and simply stay at home. You can hire a detective or two, if you really think it necessary, I suppose, and leave them down near the door, but you will talk to her?” She waited. Uncle Horace, who had un- folded the topmost paper, shook his head and growled suddenly, bending closer and scowling. “You will, Horace?” Mrs. Porter-Pres- ton repeated sharply. “IT beg your pardon, my dear?” said Uncle Horace, glancing up with his familiar apologetic smile. “I believe L wasn’t lis- tening.”’ And, having waited one polite second, his eyes dropped again and, essentially, he had left her quite alone. Aunt Martha sighed heavily and stared straight ahead—and it was thus that Jane found her many, many minutes later, as she entered with less speed and a rather dreary smile. “They all declined?” Aunt Martha cried with sudden hope. “Jack didn’t,” said Jane. ‘‘He can’t tell until early morning whether his partner will let him go or not, but he’s sending his man to the garage to-night with the camp stuff—to strap it on the car, you know. He said that if he cotldn’t join us he’d send some one more entertaining.” ‘“And the others?” ““Well—Louise is going out of town to- morrow, and she asked me to take Mary Callum in her place. Mary seemed pleased,” said Jane, without a touch of en- thusiasm. ‘“She’s a dear, quiet little thing.” “To a fault,” sighed Jane. ‘The San- fords couldn’t go, either. I asked the Jim Hapworthys instead.” “You hardly know them.” “They'll do, though, and Mr. Hapworthy was quite anxious to come.” “He,” observed Aunt Martha, “‘is a little beast!” “V’m not overfond of him myself, but I’ve got to have somebody in the party or it won’t be a party!” Jane said desperately. ‘““Oh—Jones can’t drive us, by the way. His mother’s very ill.” “Well, that, of course, settles the whole matter,” Mrs. Porter-Preston stated, with satisfaction unconcealed. ‘Because that CORMICLOOOKS (C@