The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

238 « Mr. Farnham turned on his heel and left the chauffeur twisting monotonously on his wrench. Mr. Porter-Preston had walked to his own car now and was chatting with his driver and comparing watches; but in the clearing Jane Fayre seemed to have become a center of lively interest, and in that more attractive direction Mr. Farnham turned his steps. The case of Mr. Cragg would have to wait. James Hapworthy, his blue eye rolling at Jane, was saying: “Oh, that’s too bad—having to go back. Still—”’ “Still, if it is unavoidable, there’s nothing else to be done,” Aunt Hettie cut in, with visible relief. ‘“‘There is nothing that you can sign and send back by Uncle Horace, I suppose?” “Oh, no,” said Jane. “Then we will have breakfast comfort- ably and go back slowly,” the chaperon planned. ‘‘We’ll take two days at least and—” Jane was looking at her Uncle Horace; that gentleman, holding up his watch sig- nificantly, beckoned energetically with the other hand. , ‘Well, come on! Get started!” he called. “At once?” Jane asked. “Most certainly at once!” Mr. Porter- Preston shouted, almost angrily. “Every minute that is wasted here or on the road is gone!” ; Jane smiled at her party. “He’s right, you know—I’m dreadfully sorry, everybody. But this matter is tre- mendously important and do you mind very much starting back at once?”’ “After — after breakfast, of course?” Mary Callum asked, with a trembling, wist- ful eye. “I'd like to Wait for breakfast, because we're all hungry,” Jane smiled. “But it is to Miss Fayre’s interest not to wait,” Farnham said firmly. Uncle Horace, to whom seconds were long hours, erupted again. “T’ll start on ahead!” he called. “You folk talk it out. There’s a fast train at one o’clock, or within a minute or two after, and I shall get that at Albany. If you move fast enough you may get it, too.” The motor of his hired racer roared out suddenly and Uncle Horace, who knew not how to dally politely when business was concerned, stepped in with a wave of his hand and gave a downward tug at his hat. THE ARGOSY. The heavy machine lurched forward across the road, stopped and backed crashingly through bushes and lunged forward again, this time striking the road with its radiator pointed toward home. Mr. Porter-Preston’s hand went up in farewell—and they were thundering out of sight and the fever of motion caught Jane. Minutes were indeed precious when freedom from John Thompson and the preservation of eight hundred thousand dollars hung in the balance! “I’m afraid that we shall have to start at once!” she cried. “‘Let’s all pile in and then—” “But breakfast!” Mary Callum put in penetratingly. “I’ve been working over breakfast almost since daylight, Jane, and everything is cooked and ready and lovely! Let us have breakfast and then—” A stricken cry rose in the little clearing. Mary Callum, all full of unbelief for a mo- ment, gazed breathlessly at Cragg as that person shuffled tin plates together with no regard for the delicacies he knocked from them, dipped them in water and slammed them recklessly into a case that would need attention later. She watched him as he snatched it up and hurried to the car, where even now Mr. Farnham and Mr. Hapworthy were doing . their best to roll the tent into something like its former neat bundle. Watching him, Mary’s heart broke; she tottered to Aunt Hettie, who embraced her and shook her head grimly; she wept, long and hard. They talked soothingly to Mary as Aunt Hettie led her to the machine, but they talked for no great time. The tent arid the blankets, the pots and pans, were strapped on now, if not as Jack Weston’s man had arranged them, at least securely enough to remain with the car. The party had climbed back to their places and Cragg was pumping busily; and now-he jabbed at the starter and they were on their way again! As a tour, Jane reflected, this one had been short and, for the rest of them, not very sweet. Aunt Hettie, for the next two years at least, would miss no opportunity to recall it to her memory and to dilate on its more unpleasant features. Poor little Mary Callum, as Jane observed with a startled pang, seemed bent on weeping her way home; and the Hapworthys, if ex- pressions counted for anything, felt that the outing had fallen short of the ideal. But for herself it was enough to know COnnicoookxs (C@