The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

GETTING the other side of the moon, for all the harm they’ll do you, Jane,” Farnham said quietly, and his pistol slipped into his coat-pocket. “Vou stay here. Ill go down and see.” “Vou’re not going to kill him?” “Tm not going to kill anybody unless he tries to kill me,” Farnham chuckled. “But you keep out of sight and if there should happen to be any shooting, lie down flat and wait until I come back for you. But there’ll be no shooting.”’ In spite of which, Jane noted, he gripped the pistol rather firmly as he left her; and in spite of his commands Jane followed Mr. Farnham very quietly; and thus, in a minute or so, they came to the edge of the clearing. It Was apparent enough that their party’s refuge had been discovered. Out on the road they could glimpse a long and dusty roadster, with a man leaning on the wheel, and through the bushes another figure was plowing energetically and— “That’s Thompson!” breathed Mr. Farn- ham. “Tt can’t be,’ Jane said quickly. “He’d be head and shoulders over that. growth.” “He’s stooping,’ the young man re- minded her. ‘‘And since you seem to have followed me, young woman, keep directly behind and don’t grab me, whatever hap- pens. I think you’ve infected me with the terror of this citizen, Jane; I be- lieve I'll get the drop on him before he appears, for he’s coming with a rush.” Inconspicuously his pistol came to light and Mr. Farnham crouched a trifle lower. And then, with an astonished jerk, Mr. Farnham was upright again and saying dis- gustedly: ‘““Well—good Lord! There’s no size to him at all! He’s actually little, Jane.” “Why, that—that’s my Uncle Horace!” cried Jane. CV otra” “Uncle Horace Porter-Preston!” Jane assured him. “Wherever did he come from?” Whatever his starting point, it was plain that Uncle Horace had reached destination. Dusty, tired, almost haggard of eye, Mr. Porter-Preston devoted his first seconds to a silent survey of the gathering, while Hap- - worthy babbled conventional greetings and Mary Callum, finding her welcoming hand ignored, shrank back with a wounded little exclamation; and Aunt Hettie demanded: “Have you come to join us?” AWAY FROM THOMPSON. 235 Uncle Horace shook his head swiftly and glanced at his watch; he wasted no time in greetings nor did he seat himself upon a rock and launch forth into a detailed re- cital of his tour. Instead, he peered about and asked sharply: ‘“Where’s Jane?” “Here, uncle,” that young woman said. “Uncle, you know Mr. Farnham?” “How do?” Uncle Horace said briefly and wrung the large young man’s hand for a perfunctory instant. “Jane, child, didn’t any of my messages reach you? I spent nearly forty dollars in telephoning!” “You were doing that?” Aunt Hettie cried. “Then the Gestling—” “Of course I was doing it!” Mr. Porter- Preston said, with merciful force. ‘‘Most of yesterday I spent calling up garages and post-offices and hotels, between New York and Niagara Falls. They said in Albany that a message had been delivered to you, and that you went on again, and however, I’ve found you at last! “Jane, I'll have to talk to you alone; the rest will pardon us. Family business, you know—matter of the estate, all that sort of thing! Come, Jane! I’ve got to make Albany again and get that one o’clock train down, or—well, come, Jane!”’ His’ crooked finger beckoned impera- tively and Uncle Horace trudged off, to the far side of the clearing and the little open space that had admitted Jane’s car. Here he stopped short and wheeled about; and coming face to face with not only Jane but Wilbur Farnham as well, Uncle Horace’s tone cracked to an exasperated little whine. “My dear Jane!” he said; “ff you wouldn’t waste time—just this once! I shall have to be back in my office at five o’clock this afternoon or lose—well, f haven’t five seconds to spare now. I ap- preciate Mr. Farnham’s society, and so on, but this thing is for your ears alone. It concerns,” said Uncle Horace, as Farnham would have moved away and Jane detained him, ‘‘Thompson!”’ 3 “Mr. Farnham knows about Thomp- son!” Jane said serenely. “Is it possible? Do the others?” Mr. Porter-Preston gasped. — “Not a single word, and they do not know that I’m going to marry Mr. Farn- ham either, but I am,” Jane explained, taking little account of the series of highly dramatic starts executed by her Uncle Horace. “‘And you frightened me so, chas- CORMMICLOOOKS (C@