The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

HIS MAD MOVE ON THE MOVIES. at all hours and carried a gold-headed cane and wore white spats. Darton, however, greeted his future father-in-law’s associate quite effusively. He saw him comfortably settled and then took a near-by chair with a bright: “Dropped in for a little chat, did you? That was good of you, Mr. Bostwick.”’ The pale eyes darted at him. ‘“Hum—was it?” asked the thin, dry voice. “May change your mind about that very shortly, Darton.” desl OS 5 aah Mr. Bostwick squinted straight at him. “T never was a man to beat about the bush, Darton. I don’t like this job—I don’t like it a little bit,” he said unpromis- ingly. “What job?” “The one Dane has handed me, damn him!” clucked Dane’s partner, ‘‘See here, young man! You're expecting to marry Sibyl, I take it?” “Why—yes.” “Stop expecting it!” Young Mr. Darton frowned and, be it admitted, lost a little of his high color. “What does that mean, Mr. Bostwick?” ““She’s married already!” “What?” ‘She was married last night, in Chicago! She married young John Rossmore—the tinplate Rossmore’s—elder son, worth a million. There! That’s off my mind, thank God!” ticked Mr. Bostwick and, thumping his cane just once by way of putting a period to his news, sat back with a grunt. Jimmy Darton clutched the arms of his chair and sat, mouth wide open, for ten seconds before he was able to gasp: ‘“That—that’s a lie! I don’t believe it! I don’t—”’ “You flatter me, young sir!” Bostwick said crisply. ‘I haven’t brought affidavits to corroborate me, and I have no idea of going down on my knees and begging you to say that you think me honest. Believe it or not—and be hanged to you! That’s what happened! ‘They’ve gone straight to the Coast, with the idea, I believe, of honey- mooning in Honolulu, or something like that.” “But I—I can’t believe—Sibyl—” Dar- ton choked brokenly. ‘“That’s because you’re young, blinded and more or less of an ass,” Bostwick said cheerfully, albeit more kindly, ‘We all are at your age, you know. Except for that, 475 you’d have sandbagged the girl and kid- naped her before you let her go to Chicago. She knew Rossmore for years before she met you, Darton; she was engaged to him for six long, beautiful months. Umum.” “T never knew—that. And I don’t be- lieve it, either!” the writer said less ener- getically. “Tt is the fact, nevertheless,” the old gen- tleman chuckled grimly, as he sighted along his shining black cane. ‘“Heigho! Don’t wiggle like that, Darton. It really amounts to nothing at all, I assure you. A year hence you'll be married to a dizzy little blond or a striking brunette person, if your matrimonial bee keeps on buzzing, and when you pass Sibyl on the street you'll each have to look twice before you place the other. I know. However, this is not business, is it? I came to talk business.” Jimmy Darton could no more than stare at him. ‘Dane and I have talked the thing over before, since you seemed in a fair way to join the Dane family, you know,” Mr. Bost- wick went on. ‘‘He meant to run in and see you about it last night—before the news about Sibyl came in—and this morning He informed me that the elopement nonsense shouldn’t make a particle of difference, so far as you were concerned, because he likes you, my boy. Darton, your big chance has come!” “What big chance?” Darton wanted to know. ‘“Yowre going to Bingalong!”’ Mr. Bost- wick declaimed triumphantly. “Going to what?” Morely ejaculated. “What do you make out of this scrib- bling on an average, Darton?” Bostwick continued. ‘Twenty dollars a week? Twenty-five?” “Fully that,” the writer replied acidly. Rit”? ‘Well, in charge of our branch at Binga- long, sir, as purchasing agent of Bostwick & Dane for the Philippine Islands—and the whole China coast, for that matter—you will draw just thirty-five hundred dollars a year!” The senior partner spoke impres- sively and thumped in some more emphasis with his cane. ‘Thirty-five hundred dollars a year, Darton! If anybody had offered me thirty-five hundred dollars a year at your age, I’d have collapsed.” cent “Your ignorance of the business will count for nothing; young blood and plenty CORMICLOOOKS (C@)