The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

328 THE like an equal. Joe was a good friend ot the young lady’s brother, and the girl had talked with as much freedom to Joe as she had to her brother. Her name was Mary, a good-enough name. And she was a bright, nice girl, but she never dropped her eyes in that alluring way Amelia had, and there was never any shyness about her. If you could have looked in upon Joe and Amelia about midnight of the same evening you would not have thought the young lady any too shy. She was sitting bodily in Joe’s arms by that time, while that tender young man was rocking gen- tly back and forth in the big rocker, his sweetheart’s little hands cuddled warmly just inside the lapel of his coat. It had taken the young man just three solid hours to get her there. There was always that business of coaxing and final shy surrender whenever he came to see Amelia, but Joe loved her all the more for the desperate pleading she got out of him before she at length yielded her sweet young body to his arms for a brief, if very blissful half hour or so before parting. And now there she was on his bosom with the big house silent and warm, and the two lovers far, far away from the world. Joe rocked gently back and forth, Amelia sighed into his coat, the anthracite coal fell at intervals with soft rumbles of comfort, and out beyond, where the barn was, one could hear roosters crowing sleepily their midnight vigil. The parlor was so comfortable and the flush on Amelia’s cheek almost matched the wine of her dress, where it spread in a shimmering cascade over Joe’s knees. Sometimes the young man would reach his free hand over and draw his sweet- heart’s mouth up for a kiss. Then the girl would cuddle just a shade closer to her lover and he would resume his rock- ing. Bliss reigned. But s@mething was bothering Joe. He had come to Amelia through wind and snow, and the time was drawing near ARGOSY. when he must leave her, with ten long miles to drive. He could tell by the risen wind that the storm had increased in the night and once when Amelia had gone to the kitchen he walked to the window to discover that drifts had heaped themselves against the house waist high. He must travel home in the face of that storm. One by one the lights went out in the parlors of the houses scattered up and down the valley, until only Amelia’s light remained. One by one cutters and bug- gies hurried away from farm-houses, with drivers swathed to their chins in robes and buffalo overcoats, until only Joe remained. And still he lingered. Something was worrying Amelia, too. On her various excursions to the kitchen she surreptitiously telephoned to her mother again and again to see how things were progressing with the sick sister. The last time was at midnight. “She ain’t gettin’ along very well,” came the voice of Amelia’s mother over the singing wires. ‘‘ The doctor says the baby won’t get here until some time to- morrow morning and all we can do is to wait. Pa and me won’t be home till some time to-morrow afternoon, it looks like.” “But, ma,” protested Amelia softly into the transmitter, “‘ Joe’s here.” “Well, I can’t help that,” came the response. ‘‘Send him home and go to bed. I can’t come, so that’s all there is to it.” Amelia returned to the parlor with a sick heart and allowed herself to be drawn into her lover’s arms for a last embrace. The custom of the valley permitted beaux to stay with their sweethearts until mid- night, but beyond that one courted scan- dal, so Joe said good night and prepared to depart. The girl clung to him desperately, al- most sobbing. “T hate to have you go out in this awful storm,” she said wretchedly. “It’s snowing something terrible.” “Aw, I don’t care anything about EO) .OO AMUC S (C©)