The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

494 ‘‘“And what have you done, Mel?” He was silent. “Vouwre trying. to show,” she went on, “that Frank hasn’t done anything to stir my imagination. Well, he’s part of the world’s work, and I think that touches my imagination. He’s in a position to do some- thing; at any rate to be interesting. But when I ask you what you have done there isn’t any answer.” “Ves, there is, too,” he retorted with a touch of boyish awkwardness, “but a man hates to talk about himself, especially when it really doesn’t seem important to what you call the world’s work, but a man has to have caliber to do it, anyhow.” “What?” “Well, everybody thought I’d be picked to play on the International Polo Team. You know I broke my ankle in practice. All the newspapers said that if I’d been play- ing we might have held the cup. Perhaps it’s nothing, but there are less than ten men in the world who could have occupied that position—and the experts said that I was the best of the ten.” “But don’t you see, Mel, that’s part of your bank-book, too? It’s a mere game, and a game only for the very rich. I like to watch polo, but it doesn’t stir me any more than a close game of tennis, and,” she finished with a little gentle laugh, “Frank plays better tennis than you do. “Don’t let’s talk about it any more, Mel. You’re a nice, cozy friend, and have been ever since we used to roller-skate in Central Park together, but as a husband—well, as I said, you don’t touch my imagination. Do you think you can take me riding to-mor- row?” ‘“J’m really sorry,” he answered. “I promised to start training to-morrow to play for the All Stars against All America on the fifteenth, and my ponies are all on edge for the work-out. Do you mind? Of course you know it hasn’t anything to do with—with this?” “Of course I know. Frank asked me to let him drive me to the game in his new car. He thinks you’re the greatest No. 3 player in the world.” ‘“T suppose he read it in the papers,” Mel growled ungraciously. “‘I’ll look for you at the game, then. Good-night!” “Good-night! I hope you'll win,” she answered. “TI really do think Id rather watch polo than tennis.” So that was why, an hour later, having THE ARGOSY. changed his clothes and driven his fast run- about with moody slowness as far as Pel- ham Parkway, Munster suddenly snapped open the throttle and shot over a half mile of that glittering surface in a burst of sav- age speed. “Tennis!” he growled, as he chained the car into low speed and turned toward home. “Tt takes nerve to play polo, as well as money. I’d like to see some of her virtu- ously poor heroes try it.” Which, as the saying goes, was “naming no names.” “Good Lord!” he ruminated further. “I can’t help being rich, and it’s a cinch that Marshall can’t help being poor or he wouldn’t be poor. For two pins I’d buy his blessed engineering firm and give it to him and then see if she’d turn him down. “Gee whiz! She’s rich, too. Yet she doesn’t seem to think that’s such an awful crime. What’s the use of being rich, any- how? It’s supposed to get you everything you want, but it doesn’t get me what I want. It didn’t even keep me from break- ing my ankle when I wanted to play on the International Team. Snapped just like a poor man’s! Hang it!” Next day, his usual cheerful and com- placently well bred manner obscured by what in a poor man might have been called bad temper, he went down to Lark Springs and began the grind of training for the big game. His friends and fellow players found it very hard to understand Melvin during the next two weeks, and his listless play several times put him in danger of losing his place on the team, but just when it seemed as if a change would have to be made he would whirl his pony like a demon into the middle of a mélée and take the ball with a skill and power that was irresistible, or, as if instructed by wizardry, he would race madly.for some spot in the field just in time to intercept the white sphere with a marvelous back-hand stroke as he rode at full speed, preventing an opposing goal or scoring one for his team. At such times it seemed as if nothing on earth could defeat his individual brilliance. During the last three days he settled down to team play, and the minds of the com- mittee became wells of calm content. At last came the fifteenth. Whatever may be said of polo as a rich players’ game it is too fascinating as a spectacle to be ex- clusively a rich spectators’ game, and early in the day the stands were crowded to Comicbooks (E@)