Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

HANDS. jobs at which he could, though—and Rod- ney listened to her recital of them. “ There’s bookkeeping,” she said. “How much can you make at that?” asked Rodney. “Well, not a fortune,” admitted Gladys unwillingly, “ but a good living.” ‘““T could make that at scissors-grinding,” he replied curtly, “ according to Haggars County.” He had pretty much the same objection to everything she mentioned. All the clean- handed occupations would require training —so would playing the violin; none of them held the promise of the fortune that the musician had dazzled before his eyes. Having acquired exact knowledge of Rodney’s funds, Gladys knew when he had arrived at his last cent. “Well,” she said, somewhat peevishly, “you got to get somethin’. I bet you’ve cut yer last coupon, me lord.” “T’ve got fifty cents left,” he replied unconcernedly. Gladys blanched at this confirmation of what she knew must be the truth. “Well,” she said, “if you must make a fortune, you’d better make it quick. Our landlady ain’t runnin’ no home for talented but impoverished geniuses. Yer better take one o’ those dirty-handed jobs—since the clean ones don’t look good enough fer yer. I’ve read in the Sunday editions that Mr. H. Ford had awful dirty hands at one time, and look at the way he slings millions around now—right in the face of the dove of peace. You’d better go back to scissors- grinding.” But.Rodney only smiled at her. . “Well,” she said resignedly, “if I was you, I’d go to the guy that got yer into this mess and make him stake yer till yer get a job that suits him.” Rodney spread out his strong, capable, lean hands. “Tl do that as soon as I get my nails white; I can’t seem to get the dirt out from under them.” Gladys then raised her tone to convey sarcasm. ‘All you need now, me lord,” she said airily, ‘‘ is a mannycure; it ll only cost yer fifty cents. An’ I bet you're the guy that ’Il SG ee free oa fee ==> 323 spend yer last penny ter do wot yer set out ter do.” Rodney nodded. ‘I am,” he said quietly. ‘Where can I get a mannycure?” ‘“T’ll show yer in the mornin’,”’ replied Gladys. ‘“‘ Then, when yer get it, go ter that crazy fiddler and demand yer fortune. An’ if yer need any help carryin’ it home, let me know. I’m off ter-morrow afternoon.” IV. RODNEY paused outside the “ manny- cure’s ” and looked at his marvelous hands. They were as white as snow—most of his long, tough nails had vanished, but what was left of them was delicately pink and pure. He had never seen such hands—never anywhere—except those 6f that great violinist’s. Gladys glanced at them admiringly, too. “ Nobody could resist yer now,” she said, unable to restrain her sarcasm, however. ~Perhaps her resentment at Rodney’s per- sistent pursuit of his ideal had a somewhat personal foundation. If this fairy tele should come true she could, as she remarked bitterly to her mirror, after leaving Rodney on his way to the musician’s, see where she got off. And where she got off would be a long way from any great, successful, dreamy-eyed musician. She left Rodney to his fate, armed, how- ever, with so much good advice that she went away believing that when next she saw him Rodney might very possibly be started toward that goal where he would only retain a dim and distant memory of her. The violinist was at home, and he had not forgotten his chance meeting with Rodney. He said he was delighted to see him—and he really was. It added greatly to his secretly good opinion of himself that he should have given an embryo genius such good, such disinterested advice. It tickled his vanity that his chance words should have altered the whole course of a human life. Here, indeed, was a tribute not only to the*power of his music—but to his personal power. EOMIEDOO! ae a HS . er .* * ae a @ he 4 i 7 ae: = ; —