The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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38 glaring inconsistency and his repeated turn-abouts than a character in a musical comedy plot. ‘“‘And now I must be going,” Jerry an- nounced. | “Just a cigar, or a bit of refreshment before you go,” the other suggested. “Thank you, but it’s getting late,” re- sponded Jerry. “I'll say good-night and—”’ “You must let us meet your friend Mr. Tarleton,” broke in Delroy, and Jerry thought he caught a gleam in his eye. “Thank you,” he returned simply. “T never heard you speak of him, I think,” Delroy went on suavely. “Is he a New Yorker, or is he—perhaps from Philadelphia?” Jerry gave him look for look, and per- mitted a slight smile to play over his lips. “No,” he answered, “he is not from Philadelphia. He has been a New Yorker as long as I have known him.” “Vou must be neighborly, Hampton,” the other went on cordially, as Jerry moved toward the door. “I feel that we are getting better acquainted. And when you prove yourself such a friend to my daughter, you win my friendship and my undying gratitude. It will bear the test, too, Hampton: if you need a friend, come to me!”’ “Thank you,” said Jerry again, and smiled with unconcealed amusement as he went out at the door. CHAPTER X. A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. T was near midnight when Hampton reached the farm, but Exmoor had not returned. This disturbed him vaguely, for Exmoor had been ill prepared for any ex- tensive adventure; he reflected regretfully that he should have furnished him with more money from his own slender purse. The night passed, and he sat on the porch and waited, as Exmoor had done for him the previous night. It was possible, he feared, that his guest might not come back. The episode in the restaurant had THE ARGOSY. naturally endangered his incognito; it had made him, in a way, as open to observa- tion and notice as he had shrunk from be- ing; so it was conceivable that he might now disappear as mysteriously as he had appeared. The sun rose and Jerry sat and smoked, with an anxious eye fixed upon the door in the fence. “He is at least paying me back in my own coin,” he reflected. At eight o’clock, while the grandmother was rattling pots and pans in the kitchen, unconscious that the men were not in the chamber above, Exmoor walked in. “Vengeance is sweet!” said Jerry, meet- ing him on the path to the door. “T am not vindictive,” Exmoor returned, smiling cheerfully. “I have been in the whirl of social life, and it was impossible for me to tear myself away any earlier.” “Ts it more mystery?” inquired Hamp- ton, “‘or have you been dabbling in adven- tures that you can tell me about?” “T will be as open as the day!” declared the guest. “Hampton, I have been dab- bling in the twentieth century sport of kings—the greatest of New York outdoor sports—I have been joy riding.” Jerry threw up his hands in mock horror. “You will tell me next,” he said, “that you have been cultivating the acquaint- ance of Mr. Foxford!”’ “‘You’ve won the guess!” cried Exmoor. ‘“Vou see, I spoiled Mr. Foxford’s evening by treacherously separating him from his charming companion. We talked it over— at very considerable length; that is the penalty the sober man pays for meddling with a drunken man’s affairs. I think I began with Mr. Foxford about ten o’clock, and I give you my word at twelve o’clock I was still explaining to him why I ob- jected to his return to the dining-room when he found that the call to the tele- phone had been a mistake.” “Vou are a martyr!” exclaimed Hamp- ton. ‘‘Couldn’t you get away from that man?” “Qh, but I didn’t try,” was the answer. CORMMICLOOOKS (C@)