The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

THE GILDED TRAP. low in the new one that suited her better than the one their minds had fastened on six months before. But she threw the new one into the fire without troubling to tear it up at all, and then put the lids back on and returned to the sitting-room. “Why, Ellen, you’re not crying, are you?” her mother asked quickly. ‘““T—-[ was burning some old papers,” Ellen hastened to explain. ‘‘ The smoke got into my eyes.” — No, dear reader, let us not get senti- mental over anything so utterly dun as burning red catalogues in a homely kitchen stove. That would be too foolish. Let us turn to pleasanter things. At that moment Bruce Evans was de- ciding that the cockpit of Wheelock’s motor-boat was a trifle cool, in spite of the warmth of the June Sunday. Miss Wheelock had gone into the tiny cabin half an hour ago. “Cold?” the girl spoke as he entered. “JT was awfully cold out there. Come over and sit here. It’s the warmest spot I can find.” The sun was shining in the starboard windows as their course lay, and would fall full’upon the backs of those sitting on the cushioned seat, of which she herself took a good half. Bruce managed to get himself into the other half. He was of slight build, anyhow. CHAPTER X. THE CARES OF RICHES. OF course he got the dinner-suit; and was glad of it when he discovered that two other young men had been in- vited to join the family Saturday evening. Of course he discovered that a silk outing- shirt was not a silk dress-shirt, and that there were studs and things all carefully prescribed by people with nothing better to think of than dress. These things he had had to procure be- fore starting on Saturday afternoon. Pro- curing them and a five-pound box of candy left him some change over four 295 dollars. He wished he haa not let a spell of reactionary economy prevent his get- ting permission to go up to the Twentieth National and draw some more cash. It was only now that Sunday was drawing to a close without his having had to part with so much as a dime that he was feel- ing easy on that score. They dined at a yacht club-house in- side Stamford Harbor light. The after- noon had continued to grow chillier, after a morning heat that had fooled them out of wearing sufficient wraps. ‘You two had better go home on the train,” Wheelock advised. “ Clifford and I will take the boat back all right. Get off at Port Chester and you will be able to find a taxi. I'll telephone for one, that will be better yet. You don’t want to take cold, either of you.” ‘Me for the train,” Jessie cried eagerly. “Booh! I’m half frozen. I thought we’d never get to these bright lights and some warmth. I'll never go in that boat again without a fur coat.” Bruce’s first sentiments were of hearty accord. Jessie had had the benefit of a spare oilskin. It had seemed to him that his light serge coat was a little colder than nothing. He had worn no vest. Then came other sentiments. ‘The rail- road fares and the taxicab would be up to him! A young man has to be sure that every one knows he has money before he likes to admit that for the moment he hasn’t. He would have given several times two hours of his time for the chance of a word with Wheelock and getting a small check cashed. But Wheelock came hurrying from the telephone booth. ‘“ There’s a train at eight-ten. The next is after ten. If you hurry you can catch it. There’s a car now,” he cried as he came. run for it. The only vacant seats were at the front of the car. The motorman had his win- dows open. ‘The front door stuck badly enough so that none of the passengers getting off made more than a feint at closing it. Before half of the twenty- 0)(\) (© S AMG And there was nothing to do but (C@