The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

HELLO, SOMEBODY! “Miss Parker,” he whispered, “/’m un- der false pretenses now. I'll have to tell her.” Little Miss Angie sat up very straight. “You'll have to do nothing of the kind!” she retorted. “If that isn’t just like a man! They can only see their own side. You will please have a little consideration for me, Mr. Willis! Do you want to ruin me in the eyes of my family? If you tell how we met, they will make me have a chaperon!”’ “The roses are beautiful, Aunt Angie!” called Susie from outside. ‘I’ve a big bunch for mother. Ready, Mr. Willis?” Chard gave Miss Parker’s hand a grate- ful squeeze and sped to the call. To- gether, he and Susie went out into the fragrant June dusk. “Why, I haven’t decorated you! Hold these and I will.” She pulled a flower from her bunch and turned to him. Chard looked reverently down on the brown head. He had a swift recollection of himself, as he had sat a few hours be- fore wistfully watching the couple under his window. Now he himself was being “decorated.” “There, that’s better.”” Susie gave a 121 little nod of satisfaction and they started on, turning out to allow another girl to pass. She was handsome, this second girl, in a bold, dashing way, though her mouth was wide and too loose-lipped and her eyes were big and too black. Her scarlet hat was overlarge. She gave a half smile of impudent patronage as they met, glanc- ing from the flower in Chard’s coat to the ones in Susie’s hands. Chard caught the look and resented it, then realized how easily he might have been walking with this other girl instead of with the rare little maid by his side. They might even have met Susie going home with her roses! The thought made him sick. “Mother and father aren’t home,” said Susie when they reached the steps, ‘“‘but I hope you'll come again and meet them.” “T’d love to. I wonder when—” Chard was torn between doubt and desire. “TI suppose to-morrow evening would be too soon?” “Too soon? To-morrow?” She raised her dear, honest eyes to his. “Why, I shouldn’t think to-morrow would be a bit too soon!” THE BARD E hears in bird and wind and sea ~ The whisper of Calliope, And what he hears he sets to rime And sings it to a strain sublime. He reads romance of rue and rose In Flora’s fair portfolios, And what he reads, he with his pen Illumines for the hearts of men. He gathers balm from dreamland boughs And binds it on world-weary brows; He from a lowly wayside weed Entwines an ode or frames a creed. Born ‘neath the steadfast star of hope What seer may cast his horoscope, Or who shall gage what he achieves Who strives for heaven’s laurel leaves? Clarence Urmy COMMICLOOOKS (C@