The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

HAMPTON OF ) ‘Your grandmother has the distinction,’ remarked Exmoor; ‘‘it’s something that is never lost, you know.” Jerry was bending down, unlacing his boots. ‘““ She is my maternal grandmother,” he informed the other. “Ah, I beg your pardon,” said Exmoor. “T gathered, in some way, that she was Mrs. Hampton.” “She is Mrs. Hampton,” explained Jerry, busy with the other boot. ‘When my mother left my father she resumed her family name and gave it to me. My father’s name was Stephen Beauchamp.” A sharp thud on the floor, and the tin- kling of broken glass brought Jerry to his feet with a nervous start. Exmoor had taken a glass from the table, where Jerry had placed it with a pitcher of water, and it had fallen to the floor. “Never mind that!” Jerry exclaimed, to relieve his guest’s confusion; “I'll get an- other glass.” Exmoor was trembling slightly. “Tt seems,” he said awkwardly, “‘that— that my nerves are so unstrung that I can’t pick up anything. Don’t bother about an- other glass; I’d better be in bed and asleep before I do any more damage.” CHAPTER III. THE BLOW FALLS. re breakfast next morning Exmoor showed symptoms of a trifling cold, but was vastly improved in general condi- tion, while Jerry Hampton was quite him- self again. The grandmother presided over the coffee-pot with not a little ceremony, and dealt out smoking pancakes with an excess of liberality. The milk and cream, Exmoor learned, were home products; there was actually a cow in the stable back of the cottage, and the lusty crowing of a cock established the fact that the poultry yard was ten- anted. The old lady spoke frequently with naive naturalness of “‘the farm,” and evi- THE HEIGHTS. , 9 dently saw no humor in its existence in such an environment. “There’s a lot of fine houses all around here,” she said, “‘and more of ’em grow- ing up over night, but I wouldn’t give up this place for any of ’em. We got a cow, an’ chickens, an’ a garden, and you can’t have such comforts as them if you live in one o’ these city houses—t’ say nothing of what they call their apartment houses; they're nothing but great big wasps’ nests!” “T have seen the farm only in the dark as yet,’’ Exmoor said, “‘but I am sure that it is picturesque and a very pleasant place to live in. I hope the city won’t crowd in and press you so close that the farm will be spoiled.” ‘The high fence keeps me from seeing out and worrying about all the things around here,” replied the grandmother. “This property, of course, is pretty valu- able, and one of these days they’ll come and tear up the garden and build one 0’ them wasps’ nests all over it; but I don’t think that Jerry would hear to such a thing while I was alive. When I’m gone, then he can sell all the land and be just about as rich as any one, I guess.”’ Exmoor’s eyebrows went up in an in- voluntary start of surprise. “Oh!” he exclaimed, with unaffected in- terest, ‘Mr. Hampton didn’t tell me that he owned this property. By Jove!” he added, turning to Jerry, “you are to be classed as a landed proprietor!” A ruddy flush spread over Jerry’s face, and he strove to cover his confusion with a spirited attack upon the pancakes piled before him. He offered no reply, but — smiled rather uncomfortably. “This piece o’ land,” the old lady went on enthusiastically, “‘is worth two hundred thousand dollars, if it’s worth a cent, and it’s going up all the time. Twenty years ago it was worth about a thousand dol- lars—think of that! It’s hard to believe how things change in just a few years! ‘“‘All this was ’way out in the country then; but now the trolley cars run all round here, and the subway station’s al- (E) 0)()) ANG S CON