Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

BLONDE OR For Morrie to show such gallantry was to the onlookers something strange and unheard of, and they stared at him amazed. If they were amazed, Kenneth Howard was struck dumb; not at Morrie’s unpre- cedented courtesy, but at the likeness of his visitor. She was his subject, his brunette, the young lady of the affair at Rector’s—an actress. He gasped, and held to the knob of the outer door for support. Evidently her interview with Mr. Samuels had been a favorable one, because she smiled radiantly as she crossed the room. She paused directly in front of Kenneth, while he stood staring at her. “AmIa prisoner?” she asked sweetly. Then Kenneth awoke to the fact that he was obstructing the doorway. He held open the door and she smiled her thanks. He followed her out and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to fall into step with her on the way to the elevator. They both reached out to push the “ Down” signal for the elevator and their hands touched, and the slight contact sent a thrill through Kenneth. He stepped aside to permit her to enter the lift, and then followed along behind her. “Have you signed up with Morrie Samuels?” he asked, assuming what he vaguely imagined to be the air of a pro- fessional actor. She elevated her eyebrows inquiringly. ‘“‘T mean are you going to have a part in his new production?” “Oh, that’s quite a secret,” she an- swered. ‘All the details are not settled as yet. Are you to be in the company?” “T can’t think of anything that would give me greater pleasure,’’ he responded, truthfully enough. “IT hope you will be,” came the surpris- ing comment. Kenneth was as one whose body had been transferred to another and distant astral plane; he was here on earth in spirit only. He was conscious of the movement of his legs as he walked, but beyond that the world was a whirling panorama. He felt himself to be a part of it, but apart from it. He had heard that persons in a stupor are brought to consciousness by BRUNETTE. 155 being hit sharply on the balls of their feet. So immediately he stamped on the pave- ment. The girl laughed. the Russian dances?” “No,” said Kenneth awkwardly, “ my foot was asleep.”’ Then he felt like kick- ing himself. How different this was from what he had so often planned he would do should he ever meet a girl in this way. He wanted to hang his head in shame, and he did. | They strolled along Michigan Avenue; it was growing dusk. The street lights be- gan to flicker and glow, and shop windows all along the street suddenly became ablaze. There is no better incentive to romance than the twilight hour, ‘‘ whose mantle is the drapery of dreams.” Ugliness fades; harsh lines soften into mystic shapes. Here is a high spot in nature’s subtle drama. Both Kenneth and the girl sensed it. ‘““Tsn’t it wonderful?” she breathed. “Wonderful!” he echoed. They paused to enjoy the full sense of it. Suddenly the spell was broken. ‘“‘T must hurry home,” she said. you hail a taxi for me?” Go! Was this to be the end of his ro- mance? Kenneth looked around wildly. What could he do to keep her just a little while longer. They had stopped directly in front of a diminutive but pretentious florist’; shop. The window decoration embodied a profusion of violets. ‘ First,” said Kenneth, “I want you to have a bunch of violets; they are my favorite flower, and I want to remember you and this meeting through their as- sociation. Then you will always be my lady of the violets.” ‘How poetic and fanciful you are,” she smiled. ‘ Violets are my favorite, too, and I’d love to have them!” ‘“‘ As a remembrance of our meeting?” he asked eagerly. ““'Yes-s,” she said slowly. membrance of our meeting.” They went into the florist’s together, and as she pinned at her waist a bunch of the beautiful little shy blossoms of the wild woods, the soft, subdued strains of orchestral music reached their ears. Ken- ‘“ Rehearsing one of “Will “As a re- comicloool