The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

296 minutes’ run had been accomplished, Jessie gave a shivering little shrug of her shoulders. “IT hope there’s time to swallow a cup of coffee,” she said. Bruce hoped there wouldn’t be. Then a heavy touring-car stalled on the track and raised his hopes. It should have done the contrary. They reached the Stamford Station at eight-fifteen, and for once a New Haven train was on time. “I don’t care,” Jessie spoke in a voice that made it hard for him to keep from cuddling her in his arms then and there, “Tt’s warm here, and we can get some coffee.” ‘Don’t you want some cakes or some- thing to go with it?” Bruce felt obliged to ask. Coffee alone seemed lacking, to his mind. ‘* Have you any crullers?” the girl asked of the waiter. Bruce was sixty cents poorer for the coffee and cake. An hour and a half still remained after his investment had been consumed. Something had to be done; there was nothing better to offer a girl than eating candy. He had two dollars and ten cents in his pocket when candy and tickets had been procured. ‘How far is it from Port Chester to White Plains Manor?” Bruce asked, as the cause of his extravagance nibbled at a chocolate mint. ‘1 don’t know,” she told him. “ It must be eight or ten miles.”’ Then she chuckled happily. ‘‘I got pinched once for trying to make it in fifteen minutes with dad’s car. I told the judge I thought the motorcycle officer was trying to flirt with me as I went by, and put on speed when I saw he was pursuing me.”’ “Did you get away with it?” Bruce in- quired to cover up a shudder. ‘Of course I did,” she answered, with a laugh at the recollection. Bruce wished she were going to deal with the taxicab. Ten miles and two dol- lars! By the time the train had come and jerked them over the eleven or twelve miles of stops and starts he was in a frame THE ARGOSY. of mind to make conversation al] but im- possible. He recalled that Wheelock had tele- phoned for the cab to meet the train that had gone. Two hours of waiting on top of ten miles! The taxi was waiting when they got there. No sooner had they crossed the platform than a stocky-looking individual stepped up. Bruce had been hoping for a young man from whom he might expect enough sympathy to enable the negotia- tion of a check. This was a converted cab-driver of the original type. “Mr. Evans, sir?” he inquired with that servant-to-master manner which is so pleasant when you can pay for it. “Yes,” Bruce admitted, and they got in. Bruce could find but one thing to be grateful for, as they bowled over the road. Jessie, having covered a yawn with one of her dainty hands, admitted that she was so sleepy she could not talk or think. Since she did not talk, he did not have to try to. How was he to manage? Could he get Jessie into the house before he began the argument with this substantial-looking and round-headed chauffeur, who drove care- fully, almost cautiously, and would be careful and cautious about his pay? What would the fellow do? What could a chauffeur do when a fare failed to ‘“‘ come across ” at the end of a ride? The car slowed up, halted. pulled himself together. “You run right in and get warm,” he advised Jessie, as he helped her from the cab. Then he commenced his well- planned bluff. He had made up his mind deliberately to pretend to have lost a ten- dollar bill. ‘“ How much is it?” he asked with a stupendous effort at easy nonchalance. The man was smiling, but looked bigger and burlier than ever. Bruce braced him- self for what was coming. It came: “T don’t know. Boss didn’t say. He’ll charge it to Mr. Wheelock’s account, I reckon.” Bruce Go NOOK (C@