The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

252 the pleasant lady continued. ‘TI supposed that, after this last dreadful crash, this ter- rible tour was at an end, but—oh, dear!” Her voice broke. Her husband spoke in a colorless tone quite unlike his own, but grim and dogged nevertheless. ‘“‘Never mind, Norma,” said he. ‘Don’t cry. Wecan leave very shortly, I am sure. I’ve been thinking.” “Why, you can’t /Jeave—” Farnham be- gan. “Oh, yes, we can leave,” Mr. Hapworthy corrected. ‘I’m through, you know. I had an idea this afternoon that I was en- joying your driving, Farnham, and the speed and the risk and all that sort of thing; but what was left of that idea was knocked out just as I hit the ground. I’m going to ; ) get a rig.” “You can’t,” “T can. There must be a rig somewhere in the world that I can hire and that will take us to a railroad train and home again, and I'll find it. I want to get my wife out of this while she’s still whole,” the dogged. “T want to get out of it my-. voice insisted. self. Ill find a rig somewhere.” “But there isn’t a house in miles,” Jane protested. ‘And in the morning, when we have all rested—” “Well, I’m going to walk the miles, then, Miss Fayre, and I don’t want to rest here, ‘thank you,” said the stubborn Mr. Hap- worthy. “It’s idiotic, I suppose, but I have a feeling that Farnham might drive the car over us or explode the gasoline, or something like that. I’m going now.” “And no matter what you have to pay, James, bring something back!” his lady cautioned. Mr. Hapworthy laughed wanly. | “Don’t worry, Norma,” he said. “If I can find a live horse and anything on wheels before I drop, I ‘shall return with them. Good-by, all!” and Mr. Hapworthy tottered toward the road, a man rather weak and battered in the flesh, perhaps, but with a new and iron spirit. His steady, shuffling step rustled through the undergrowth and struck the roadway. For a moment they saw Mr. Hapworthy in the headlight’s reflection, as he paused, ca- ressed his doubtless burning forehead and looked about, north, east, south and west. Then he was gone, and Jane addressed his wife in a small, forlorn, almost choking voice: “You are not—not going to leave me?” THE ARGOSY. “That, Miss Fayre, is a matter for your own decision,” said Mrs. Hapworthy’s icy tone, and the owner of the tone withdrew to the deeper shadows. In his own fashion Wilbur Farnham strove to comfort Jane, assuring her that by no possible chance could Mr. Hapworthy find a conveyance where none existed—that even if he located a human habitation in this wilderness, its occupants would surely refuse to arise and go forth into the night with him. His hostess merely nodded wearily, and at last Mr. Farnham set about running in ~ the car and pitching the tent. A sturdy collection of machinery and one which cherished no feeling of vindictiveness toward him, the big motor hummed pleas- antly under his touch, permitted itself to be backed around and finally drew up in the clearing; and since Jane was huddled down upon a rock, Mr. Farnham drew one of the blankets about her, sought to thrust upon her a somewhat desiccated sandwich and busied himself with the tent. Its framework and its sections, this time, were as he had arranged them earlier in the rushing day. He assorted them with ease and set them up; he spread robes upon the ground and approached Mrs. Hapworthy. “Dear lady,” said Mr. Farnham, in a voice of honey, “‘you’ve had to stand a lot— we all have—but we’ll have better luck to- morrow. You’re not going to quit us, and you're only making yourself miserable over here in the dark. Why not roll in and sleep until morning, like a good, reasonable little woman?” . There was no response. “Won't you?” pleaded Mr. Farnham. “Sir!” the lady said tensely. “If I were to spend even one more minute with this crazy party than was absolutely, unavoid- ably necessary, I should—no! NO!” It was perfectly final; Mr. Farnham felt that and turned away with a sigh and a rather tart smile. By Jane’s side he paused, but no invita- tion to slumber was necessary here, for Jane looked up with a dreary: “Ts the tent ready, Wilbur?” “All ready, dear.” “You will not mind if I—I leave you?” Jane sighed. “I’m so tired that I can’t even think.” “Don’t think, child,” said Farnham, as he guided her tenderly to the shelter. ‘Just sleep and leave everything else to me.” CORMICLOOOKS (C@