The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 4 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

A SECRET OF THE BRONX. “Hello, Fanning,” greeted Tom, not with- out some hiccoughing, and looking a little shamefaced. ‘Had to get something to take the stone dust out of my throat.” “T didn’t know that you were a stone- cutter,’”’ replied Fanning. “No, but I stand over these fellows and see that they do their work.” Fanning regarded him gravely. He knew this was a falsehood, for any outsider who stands over a stone-cutter working for a contractor and attempts to tell him how to do his work will soon know enough to go about his own business. Fanning wanted to get Joyce away. And his mind was revolving another problem— what to do with Tom. This job was no good for him. How he had become addicted to excessive drinking in so short a time was a mystery to the stronger willed Fanning. And Fanning knew that to leave him there, day after day, practically idle, with plenty of pocket money, was going to ruin him beyond re- pair. Something else must be decided upon. But what? Tom was no easy chap, to manage in a matter of that kind. He had what he thought was adamantine firmness of char- acter, which, analyzed, amounted to stub- bornness in small things. Fanning knew that if he tried to send Tom away on the Sapphire, to Florida, to the Bermudas, which he was perfectly will- ing to do, Tomewould resent the offer. And then it was doubtful if the experiment would be a success. Tom could always get spending money from his doting mother. While Fanning was thinking these things quickly Joyce was even more wrought up over something else. She had, nestling in the palm of her hand, inside her glove, the cuff link. She shrank from giving it to Tom in his present condi- tion. But if she did not, there would be the necessity of explaining to her mother why she had not. To tell the true reason would be impossi- ble. It would be absurd to say that she forgot, for it was an established, indisputa- ble fact in the house that Joyce never for- got anything. She took the gold link from her glove. “Here is your cuff link, Tom,” she said. “Did you miss it this morning?” Her voice was tremulous. Fanning no- ticed her emotion, but Tom, oblivious of the 605 fact that his sister’s eyes were rapidly fill- ing and the shower must soon fall, took the link and grinned. “Should say I did! Why, I ransacked my room half an hour looking for the thing. Where did you find it?” “Mama found it.” “Oh, I’m always dropping them. You see, the buttonholes in the cuffs of my new shirts are too large. One end comes out and then the other. I wish you’d sew them up smaller, Joyce.” “T will, Tom,” answered his sister, half choking. Fanning was looking at the man with a feeling of admiration that was mingled with dismay. Evidently he had missed but the one link. Fanning had been nursing a theory that the thief had been in Tom’s room and stolen both his cuff links, and dropped one while rifling the bureau drawer in Mrs. Kendry’s room. This happy theory was shattered now, for Tom showed one gold link in his right shirt sleeve and a white enamel one in the left. He took this out and replaced it with the one Joyce had restored to him. Then he looked Fanning straight in the eyes and said: “TY heard that again about one o’clock. You know what I mean.” Fanning nodded and felt a queer sensa- tion. He knew that Tom meant mysterious footsteps in the house. CHAPTER XIV. THE TRUTH, OR GOOD ACTING? “KNOCK off for to-day and come with Joyce and me for a ride,” said Fan- ning abruptly. Tom looked uneasy. “Can’t leave these fellows all alone so long,” he said. “Come, Tom. We want to talk to you. Something very serious has happened.” Tom turned to Joyce with a quick, ner- vous movement. “Anything the matter? What has happened?” “We can’t talk here. Let’s go where we can sit down and talk. I’m tired standing in this wind.” “Very well,” replied Tom. He was coherent enough now. His quick intuition had warned him that these two Anybody sick? COMMiCoooks (C@