The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

GETTING AWAY FROM THOMPSON. “And still,” said Mr. Farnham, smiling pensively at an artificial palm, “there must be a way out of that.” She detests—some- body?” : “Nearly everybody,” Jane admitted. “T know, but what’s the name of her par- ticular pet aversion—the family she would rather shoot that meet? Most of us have one or two of ’em.”’ ‘“Why—the Gestlings, I suppose,” Jane said uncertainly. ‘The Peter Gestlings?”’ ets Fok “YT don’t blame her much,” grinned Mr. Farnham, rising. ‘‘Let’s go back now.” He led the way to the dining-room, smil- ing serenely upon Jane as the head waiter bowed her ceremoniously back to her chair. His smile broadened cheerfully as he re- turned to his own place. An infinitesimal second he gazed straight at Jane and then: “Well, we probed to the bottom of the mysterious message,” announced Mr. Farn- ham. ‘We are to have company on the trip.” “Ah?” said Hapworthy. ‘Some people coming up behind in an- other car,” Farnham went on carelessly. Aunt Hettie glanced sharply at him. “What people?” “That’s where the mystery comes in,” Farnham chuckled. ‘‘Friends of somebody here, apparently, or they wouldn’t have known the route and invited themselves along, but they couldn’t quite get the name. Guest—Gessler—something like that. Miss Fayre thought it must be Gestling. The fellow’s first name was Peter, anyway.” Thereupon he turned his whole attention to the activities of the waiter corps, which was bringing covered dishes and bustling over them on side tables. The chaperon of the party, quite ignoring her own portion, breathed rather more rapidly for several silent minutes; until, just as Mr. Farnham was regarding her with plain disappoint- ment, she came to the surface with: ‘“Where are these people?” “Oh, the suspense will soon be over,” Mr. Farnham smiled. ‘‘They can’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes behind now. Do you know who they are?” Aunt Hettie laid aside her fork. ‘“T have a painfully clear idea,” said she. “They are people who have thrust them- selves upon me incessantly these last five years. I should no more think of enduring them on a trip of this character—” She ended with a disgusted sniff. Mr. Farnham smiled blandly upon the fruit of his mendacity. ‘‘Y understand,” he said sympathetically. ‘Do you want to run from them?” “Not before we finish luncheon!” Mr. Hapworthy said, and took to eating more rapidly. ‘Whenever Miss Fayre or her aunt wish to go,” corrected his spouse. Aunt Hettie drew her motor-coat about her. ‘TY am sorry,’ she said firmly, ‘‘as much for my own sake as for that of the rest of you, but I insist on getting out of sight within five minutes. Finish this coursé and let the rest of it go; and with the help of Providence we'll be out of Albany before they can find us. I will not—positively will not!—tolerate their company!” “Go again—in the car—to-day?” Mary Callum asked weakly, dropping back in her chair. ‘“Without even finishing luncheon and resting an hour or two?” Aunt Hettie rose abruptly. ‘Starvation is better than being bored to death,” said she. “I will wait in the car. Hurry, please.”’ ‘And, anyhow, we started out to camp,” Mr. Farnham said blandly. “It’ll be ever so much more fun to sleep in the woods than in stutly rooms. I’m ready when the rest are. The five minutes had not expired when the silent company filed after Aunt Hettie. For an instant Mr. Farnham detained Jane Fayre. ‘For your sake,” he said gravely, “I lied.” ‘I’m sorry that you had to lie,” Jane murmured. ‘But considering the lightning results, I guess it was worth it,” the helpful one added warmly, ‘‘and what is more, if it becomes necessary for me to lie again—” ‘“T hope it isn’t; I don’t like to have you lie,” his hostess said. Mr. Farnham gazed down on her medita- tively. ‘‘Consider me anchored to the cold truth for the rest of my life,” said he. ‘Here- after brute force will have to do whatever is necessary. What was the name of the town you told Cragg to head for?” “Batesford.”’ ‘“T’ll wind him up and start him going,” murmured Mr. Farnham, and approached the chauffeur with: “Tanks filled?” COMMICLOOOKS 219 (C@