The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

JUST FOR THAT. to a ‘lorn lad in khaki’; maybe some day you'll be glad to remember that you were. My name’s Howard Holt. I won’t ask yours; I promise you I won’t ever try to find out if you’ll—” “ What is it you want me ‘to do?” a low voice queried. “Why,” smiled the boy, “ just make a fuss over me—all women know how it’s done. Just pretend I’m the man you care for, and that you’re giving me to your country’s service, and that maybe—just maybe, you know—I’ll not come back. Though I think I ought to tell you I haven’t an idea we'll ever see Mexico or get nearer the border than Fort Shelton. It’s just a preparedness stunt, I think, though one never can tell. But—all the same, won’t you, Ellen?” The girl glanced swiftly and cautiously about her. No one paid them the slight- est heed. “Yes,” she said, almost inaudibly, “if it will make you feel less like a homeless dog—” Suddenly her hands were gripped in two strong brown ones; she felt herself being drawn irresistibly toward a tan flannel shirt, with the second button of which her eyes were just on a level. She did not resist—that button seemed to ex- ercise a singular hypnotic effect — even when the harsh fabric grazed her cheek and an arm about her shoulders pressed her closer to its rough surface. She felt dazed and queer and helpless —a pawn in the hands of fate. She had come out, cockily confident, to view the scene of many partings, quite imperson- ally and unemotionally, except for pro- fessional purposes; and here, instead of making copy of the occasion, she was ’ recklessly mixing in and even playing a leading part. To her horror and dismay, she found. she was taking her role seriously. There was a lump in her throat and a suffoca- ting feeling like a weight on her chest. And all for a man whom she had never seen till an hour earlier, and whom she might never see again. 255 ‘Ellen,’ she heard him say; “ dear little Ellen, you won’t forget?” Ellen played up. ‘“ Never,” she half sobbed. ‘ And you'll write, won’t you? And not take chances or forget to read your Testa- ment—” ‘’Fraid I haven’t one.” “ Then—” <A long-drawn whistle sounded far up the track. An important personage in uniform hurried by sa a sharp: ‘Join your company, Holt!” Instinctively, as the moment of part- ing approached, Ellen clung to the tall youth, whose arms as instinctively tight- ened about her until their pressure quite cut off her air supply. There was a tense moment of silence. Then she felt his breath on her cheek. ‘‘ Ellen,”’ a pleading voice whispered in her ear, ‘ Ellen—just once, for good- by!” Ellen Hibbard was a well-trained, well- mannered, discreet young woman, despite the fact that her newspaper experience had given her what she called “a line on life.” But suddenly discretion and train- ing fell from her like an outworn gar- ment. She found herself obediently lifting her small, flushed face to -the handsome dark one bent above it. Their lips met and clung in a long, close kiss, rather tender than impassioned. Then, with a breathless ‘“ Oh!” she drew herself away and straightened the pert little hat. The train thundered down upon them. Where confusion had reigned supreme, military discipline now prevailed and tri- umphed. The central figures of clinging groups detached themselves to become units in a compact, orderly formation, alertly awaiting orders. As the sharp rasp of the commandant’s voice fell upon his ear, Holt caught the girl in his arms again, held her to him hard, crushed his lips on hers for a long moment—and was gone. She saw him melt into the mass, then GomiGcdooks (C@