The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

76 dollars a year, if not thirty-six thousand 7 cents to Bruce Evans. “Ves,” he responded to Ellen’s excla- mation: “I ‘don’t know what struck him and Mercer. Mercer took me out to lunch at his club; Wheelock gave me a couple of hours’ motor ride. I. think the world’s coming to an end.” He was telling the truth. He didn’t know what had caused the sudden change in the attitudes of the cashier and head bookkeeper. In considering Mercer old wounds still rankled so that he could have harbored a faint suspicion that the two thought he knew something much more serious than favoritism. But Wheelock— was Jessie Wheelock’s father. Of course he was not such a fool as to have fallen in love with the girl. Of course he was and would be absolutely loyal to her who had been his promised bride for long, hard years. But— He wasn’t anxious to know anything against Jessie Wheelock’s father. “Oh,” Ellen exclaimed, “1 do hope it’s going to mean something better for you.” ’ The thoughts of his heart bubbled over in spite of his resolution: “There’s a little talk of making me assistant paying-teller. No use counting chickens, of course. But—it’s twenty- four per, if I get it.” “ Bruce!” the girl cried in delight. Her eyes were as bright as Jessie Wheelock’s —almost. Evans took the occasion to administer a kiss. . : “T always knew it was in you,” she remarked, as is the manner of loving women from all generations. “Tt isn’t out yet,” he warned with a laugh. “But it’s bound to come out,” Ellen prophesied firmly. ‘“ Bruce, I was won- dering whether to show you that bunga- ~ low plan or not. I got to.figuring on it, and I’m almost sure they’ll want a hun- dred more to build it than the one we talked to them about.” She had gone to the table and, taking up THE ARGOSY, a catalogue of ready-built houses, turned back to the page showing the cheapest of summer bungalows. The one to which she pointed was marked three hundred and seventy-five dollars. In the book it looked much tastier than the other houses at Sunnyville, if a bit smaller. “Of course we'd have to figure on seven hundred and fifty with the cellar and all—we know they always come double these prices. But—isn’t it worth it?” Ellen inquired. _ “Say, Ellen, we rode through Sunny- ville yesterday. Did you ever notice that it’s on the edge of a swamp?” Bruce returned, hardly glancing at the catalogue. “A swamp?” the girl echoed. ‘ There’s a little bit of marsh there, if that’s what you mean. They’ve been filling it up all the time. What’s left is almost all under tide-water when the tide is up. I’m sure the place isn’t unhealthy, Bruce.” “Well, maybe not. But, Ellen—who wants to live in a hole like that with a lot of foreigners, anyhow?” ‘Those Harrises who were buying a lot next to ours were Americans,” Ellen ar- gued. “ And the others were a nice, quiet class of Italians. J—” “Oh, those Harrisses!”’ Bruce broke in. “ Harris is a cheap, non-union carpenter who’s building the houses for the com- pany. You know that. And his wife!” “Why, Bruce!” the girl cried with a note of alarm and just a trace of com- bat. “ Mrs. Harris was a school-teacher. I know where she taught. And the chil- dren were dear little things.” ‘““How many were there?” Bruce asked in a tone that laughed at the size of the Harris family. ‘Four, and I wish I owned every one of them.” Ellen spoke with a ring of genuine defiance. “1 don’t,” Bruce contested. Ellen stared at him thoughtfully. It appeared that she had suddenly come to doubt certain preconceived and other well-established notions about «her husband-to-be. Then she returned.to the main contention. COPNICLOOOKS (E@)