The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

126 Her eyes met mine, and there was so — much ‘of disappointment, of wistfulness, in them, that almost before I realized what I was doing I had taken her hands. “You must not worry, dear,” I said somewhat huskily, for words would not come easily. She looked up at me, her eyes full of emotion. Doubtless it was simple gratitude— response to my sympathy—yet as our eyes lingered—and lingered, I was swept off my feet. I caught her in my arms. She tried to push away. I bent down and kissed her. Then I realized the enormity of my of- fense and released her. Gone were all my igh ideals as to the sanctity of a woman’s person. Gone, I felt, was the faith I had tried to show her was justified in some men. I was a second Flanagan. Worse, for Flanagan had made no pretense to the fine ideals of the gentleman. He had been a brute because he had been born and reared a brute; but I had been born and reared a gentleman and had masqueraded as such. _ Shame at least I had. I could not look the girl in the face. “ Come,” I said bitterly, “ let us return to the pond that you may have the pro- tection of Brute Flanagan.” Without speech she followed me back. The remainder of that day dragged on with leaden heels. Flanagan had some fever, and must be under cover at night, so out of the balloon cotton I made him a very presentable tent, and, while I was about it, one for myself. I visited the snares hourly, conscious from the pangs of my own hunger what - those of the others must be. But the game had grown wary. With the advent of man they had gone to other and safer haunts. My snares were- empty. I had not dared meet Elizabeth Nor- cross’s eyes that day, much less speak to ‘her. I could not ask forgiveness. The offense was unpardonable. THE ARGOSY. As night fell again I replenished the fire, and the three of us sat silently about it. Then it came time for her to retire to her nest. She gave me full mete of my pun- ishment, I thought then. First ‘she asked Flanagan if there was anything she could do to add to his com- fort before she retired. He thanked her — with awkward humbleness, his eyes those of the worshipful mastiff. For a moment I felt her eyes on me, but dared not look up from the fire. Then she said, “Good night, gentlemen,” and left us. ‘““Gentlemen!” Flanagan and I! She classed us together. What he was, that I was. No better; no worse. Perhaps she used the words convention- ally; but that could hardly be possible after what had happened. Why was not “ good night ” enough? What need of the ‘“ gentlemen ”’? “ Ah, milady,” I thought sadly, “ have you no mercy?” “ Flanagan,” I said, fools.” “Aye,” he answered, and -his great “all men are voice was husky; “ worse than that. And: some women are angels.” I looked into the fire and mused. Brute Flanagan-had ruled first by right of might. I had deposed him and reigned by virtue of what I had named superior intelligence. Then had come this slender wisp of a woman who had taken us both into camp. Where before we had been the other’s subjects, now we were her slaves. Vil. I NEVER think of our rescue without seeing again the picture of those great woodsmen standing beneath milady’s car and gazing up at it with expressions of amazement, the while uttering quaint ejaculations of wonder. I had slept late beneath my cozy tent, and awakened to hear unfamiliar voices. I peered out to see these simple men of the woods walking slowly about beneath the car, examining it from every angle as if consumed with curiosity as to what COPMICLOOKS (C@)