The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

GETTING AWAY FROM THOMPSON. feel sure that you will have it. If any- thing should happen in the city to make your chase unnecessary, I'll send a wire to you at the Batesford post-office. meanwhile,” Uncle Horace said, paused impressively. Veg??? ‘Remember that this is Thursday and that every minute, every second, counts!” concluded Mr. Porter-Preston, as he tucked the robe about him. ‘Go on, Barrows!” Drowning Drayton’s little main street in blue smoke, the obedient roadster shot away—to the end of the street, around the curve and then out of sight, its motor roaring forth Uncle Horace’s farewell. Jane and Mr. Farnham smiled at each other in the causeless way that had become quite a habit this morning; but there was scant time for smiles, and they turned their attention to the six and its occupants. All three ladies were leaning back rather wearily, but Mr. Hapworthy was missing. A glance into the general store disclosed him standing hungrily as a man at the delicatessen counter wrapped paper about a mountain of sandwiches, and now he came pattering forth with his burden and a complacent smile. : “This is a good time to break the news!” Mr. Farnham said softly. “They probably think they’re still on the way home, you know.” His hostess nodded and hurried back to the car, just as sheer starvation was strug- gling to best good. manners and all three ladies were reaching toward Mr. Hap- worthy. “ve good news!” Jane said brightly. “Horace phoned ahead and reserved the stateroom for us?” Aunt Hettie asked. “Why, no! We don’t have to go home at all,” said their hostess. ‘“Isn’t that nice?” “But—but I thought—” Mary Callum faltered. “Tt was only a false alarm,” Jane hur- ried on. “You see, uncle called up the peo- ple about the business, and it can be—er— postponed. So we'll just turn around and jog back to Batesford, or somewhere up that way.” ‘“‘And if we find just the right camp-site beside a lake, it’s possible that we may settle down and do a little fishing,” added Mr. Farnham, who had imagination. “Oh, I hate fishing!” escaped Mary. “I hate to see the poor, helpless little things wriggle!” 4 A and And | 241 Sheer disappointment had all but stricken dumb Jane’s Aunt Hettie; she sat back weakly and gazed at the hostess. ‘But Jane!” she said. “Now that we’ve planned to go home — now that all the others have counted on getting home—”’ “Why, they haven’t counted on it at all, I’m sure!” Jane laughed. ‘I: was so sorry to think that we had to go back, and I’m so glad now that it isn’t necessary. Have you plenty of gas and oil, Cragg?” The chauffeur glanced fearfully at her. ‘“Maybe ten drops, lady,’ he mumbled. “T ain’t got enough to make another mile on; we wouldn’t ’a’ got this far if I hadn’t coasted the hills.” “Then you’d better take her down to the garage and tank her up,” Mr. Farn- ‘ham said briskly. ay- suppose that you ladies will prefer to get out and walk around a little while he’s doing it?” Numbly, mechanically, they responded to Mr. Farnham’s suggestion, passing to the porch of the post-office, where several inhabitants of Drayton inspected them with frank curiosity. Mr. Cragg watched Jane until she had joined them; then he turned to Farnham with a quizzical smile. ‘Now, boss,” said he. ‘“‘When I get down to the garage there, I gotter get out of this car, you know.” “What of it?” ‘“T don’t want you to think I’m going to climb a tree and jump into an airship or anything like that,” pursued the driver with an impudence which, in the light of the re- cent past, Mr. Farnham could not well re- sent. ‘‘And what’s more, I’ve gotter go into the garage and look over his spark-plugs to see if there’s anything I can use on this car. That number three cylinder ain’t hit once this last forty miles, and I think the plug is on the bum, because when I looked at it before we started I saw a crack and when a plug cracks—” “Go and get ready to start!’ Mr. Farn- ham snapped. “Don’t sit there talking about it.” Mr. Cragg started his motor and grinned — patiently. ‘“T only wanted to tell you beforehand, boss, so’s you wouldn’t get excited and jump on me the second I hit the ground,” he said. ‘“Y’know, I’m little and I ain’t trained down very hard; this thing o’ get- ting banged around like a football leaves a lot of bruises.” COMMICLOOOKS (C@