The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

JUST FOR her heart and tingled through her veins like wine. Did anything else matter? She only admitted that something did when she grasped the fact that Private Howard D. Holt, aged twenty-one, Com- pany F, First Cavalry, son of David Jayne Holt, of the Holt-Helgar Mfg. Co., was unmarried. “He didn’t lie to me! It was all straight—what he told me!”’ was ringing in the girl’s brain as she read the brief account extracted from Holt (who had shied at “ singing of arms and the hero” —in the first person singular) of his wan- derings after he had made his escape from the Mexican camp and _ started across an unfamiliar hostile region for his own, With wet lashes she read how, half- starved, tattered, exhausted, yet game, he had straggled into camp, dragging his comrade, and resisted, with what strength remained to him, being cast for the rdle of military hero. “It’s all right,” she heard herself say- ing over and over again, half sobbing, half laughing, “‘ he’s alive and—he didn’t lie!” IIT. SoME one entered the tiny office where Doris Dean sat day in and day out, writ- ing her screed and dealing out sage coun- sel to trusting maidens who sought her advice in the conduct of their heart af- fairs. Doris was so busy with a paragraph that insisted upon getting tangled that she did not look up, continuing to pound her long-suffering machine with a vicious thump. The color and light had come _ back to her face and her eyes were bright once more. “TI may never see him again,” she told herself each morning, “ but at least it’s a comfort to know that the man I made an idiot of myself over is a decent sort, And he’s alive, alive!” He was, indeed, very much alive, and at the moment rather ill at ease. Had she lifted her eyes from her copy she THAT. "289 would have noted that Holt, a trifle thinner and paler than when she had seen him last, was standing close beside her, his splendid bulk crowding the little room absurdly. “T beg your pardon,” he finally ven- tured, after waiting in vain for her to turn. “Sorry to interrupt your train of thought, but I—” It was a-tribute to Ellen’s nerves and training that she neither screamed nor fainted when she lifted her eyes and saw close beside her the man she had mourned as dead. Instead, after a moment, she got to her feet and held out a comradely hand —a trifle unsteady, to be sure, but cordial and welcoming. | “See the conquering hero!’ ” she said. ‘“ Won’t you sit down, or do you prefer a pedestal?” The boy flushed hotly. “Oh, ‘cut that!” he begged. “I’m sick of the stuff. The newspapers made a lot out of nothing, and everybody, even dad—” “Your father’s forgiven you?” She had recovered her poise, though her face was still a little white. ‘* Killed the fatted chicken, so to speak. Burned up the wires when he heard I’d disappeared, and came out in person de- termined to bring home what was left of me when I turned up like the bad penny IT am.” “I’m glad,” she said gently. “TI con- gratulate you. You’re home on sick leave?” He nodded. “Look the laughed; “ but dad seemed to think I was unfit for service, and he somehow convinced Uncle Sam that my valuable aid could be dispensed with temporarily, especially since the ‘war-cloud’ has about disappeared. We got in this after- noon at four. I took dad to the office and came straight here. I couldn’t help it, Ellen, really I couldn’t. I hope you don’t mind?” “No,” Ellen answered, “ I—I’m rather glad.” COMMICOOOKS invalid, don’t I?” he (C@