The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 4 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

A SECRET OF THE BRONX. little—fell back into place and a white, slender finger that had held it aside was withdrawn. CHAPTER XXI. ANOTHER ON THE TRAIL, "THAT had “been a sleepless night for Joyce Kendry. Tom had told the truth when he explained to Fanning that he had been talking with Joyce at six o’clock—the time Fanning telephoned. And the moment had been a happy one for Joyce in that Tom showed by his acts, his old time manner of flippant speech, and the sweetness of his breath that he had not touched liquor that day. It had been Joyce’s custom, when Fan- ning did not stop on his way home from the job, to question Tom upon his return to dinner as to the exact condition of affairs on Lamartine Avenue. And so it had been on that evening before Mr. Kendry was called from his den, or Mrs. Kendry came from her room, for dinner. “Well, how have things progressed to- day, Tom?” his sister had asked. “Oh, so-so. The same old drilling and the same old blasting. Takes time, but every day counts. You can see progress every night. And we put up the office to-day.” “Office? What office?” “Well, Fanning being a yachtsman these days calls it the chart room. It is a portable house, really, fitted up as an office. There is a desk built against a side wall, with drawers. Here the plans will be studied by architect, builder, master mason, all those in charge of the various divisions of the work—sub contractors, you know.” “And will Boardman use that office?” “Oh, yes, when he feels like it. One of the drawers will be his own. It is already marked ‘private.’ ” . They had dinner, Mr. Kendry returned, haggard and bent, to his den, having spoken hardly a word during the meal. Tom smoked a cigarette in the dining-room. Then he got his hat. “Are you going out to-night, Tom?” Joyce asked wistfully. ““Why not stay in?” ~ ©Oh, I’m going nowhere in particular, just for a walk. I'll be home early.” But he was not home at bed-time, and Joyce’s heart sank. The day, she feared, had been too long for him without drink, 619 and she feared he had succumbed to what- ever temptation had come his way. The household retired, and all slept but Joyce. The faithful sister lay awake worry- ing about the erring brother whom she loved so well. . “‘Ah,” she said to herself more than once, “if he was only like Boardman!” At midnight she got up from her bed and throwing a bathrobe upon her shoulders went softly to his room to see if he had re- turned and gone to his bed so quietly that she had not heard his step. He was not there. For two long hours she lay then, listening for the well-known tread upon the stairs. She heard the hall clock strike two. Thinking that she must have dozed, and that surely Tom must be home by that time, she visited his room again. He was not there. Her eyes filled with tears and vague mis- givings assailed her. Even with all his ac- cumulation of bad habits of late he had al- ways been in bed before two o’clock. Then followed two more miserable hours, during which she lay with wide open eyes not only listening for his footsteps on the Stairs, but for the ringing of the doorbell. For now she felt assured that Tom had not remained away from home so late of his own volition, but that something had hap- pened to him, and that any moment might bring a messenger of ill tidings. But no messenger came, neither did Tom. ‘At four o’clock, hoping against her own knowledge, she went once more to his room. It was as vacant as before, and her over- wrought heart gave way and she wept. From that hour she was up and down stairs, looking into the dining-room, into Tom’s room, into the den, into every room where a sick or wounded man, or one over- come by liquor, could drop into a tempo- rary resting place. But she found no signs of Tom. By the time the first faint line of gray was visible in the east her alarm grew to such proportions that she could no longer go to bed, where there would be no rest for her. She looked from her windows into the street expecting to see him stagger through the gate, or come home assisted by some of his acquaintances. And so it had happened that at the height of her anxiety she saw, while looking from her window, the form of Batterson loom up from the nearest corner. COnmmiclboooks (C@