Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

270 some day going somewhere where the sun shone most of the time and they were going to make screen plays, and Mae was going to be the leading lady. They talked of it often. “‘ You ’n’ me’s the cumpney,” Charlie would say with a look toward Hargraves; ‘‘and when it comes, it “ll come big.” Memories and recollections ceased with a rap on the door. Hargraves yawned, laid down “ Huckleberry Finn,” and went to open it. Two impressive-looking gentle- men stood outside. “We are looking for Mr. Theodore Har- graves Bradly,” said one. “'That’s me,” said Hargraves. Then he colored as he thought of grammar, and asked them in an embarrassed way to come in. One of the gentlemen surveyed Mae and spoke of a word in private. Mae arose, gathered up her darning, and de- parted. The gentlemen talked. Once or twice Hargraves swallowed audibly. After an hour they left. Hargraves stood leaning against the door for a moment after their departure and he ran a hand across his brow with a bewildered motion. Then Mae entered, followed by Charlie. “What ’d the Vanderbilts want?” asked Mae. Hargraves answered in a voice which shook. “You can put up a monument for Elsie,” said Hargraves to Charlie, “a good one! And to-morrow you and Mae can go buy some decent clothes, and we're going to California and make pictures and have enough to eat, too! Honest, we are!” CHAPTER XXI. NEWS. IME’S fingers touch so differently the different. Gentle wrinkles, good-na- tured ones and those of fretfulness, he etches; but, like fortune, time allows the sign-post man points out, and marks the chosen road «distinctly as he travels it. Because of this the face of the younger Milton girl was sweet to look upon, al- se THE ARGOSY. though it held a wistful hint and sometimes an ache was mirrored in her eyes. Also because of this the wife of Franklin Milton had become a slinking little shadow of © fear, wearing what people called the ac- knowledgment of guilt on her face, for she had been beaten. Just now she sat with her two daughters in the room which had once been a nursery. ‘““T thought,” she said, with an apprehen- sive look toward the door, “I thought Mrs. Van Dorn spoke to me yesterday when we were out. I was almost sure she did, and smiled. Did you see, Julia?” Julia opened her mouth to say that Mrs. Van Dorn had spoken across their carriage to some one on the opposite, side of the street; but Frances broke in quickly: “I’m sure she did,” she answered, ‘ I saw her. You have lots of friends, dearest, only you’re too modest to see it!”’ “| thought she did!” said Mrs. Milton,. happily. “I thought she did!” Down-stairs in an old-fashioned, high- ceilinged conservatory porch sat a clergy- man and a yellow-skinned man. The man looked unnecessarily old because he had been unnecessarily sick. He had, for years, indulged his worst side in all ways. Now when he screamed at his wife and daughters he was very dizzy and ill afterward; and he said the world was cruel while he fancied himself greatly wronged. “We all have a cross,” said the Presby- terian clergyman, who admired the father of Frances Milton. “Yes,” agreed Franklin Milton, “ but my whole life—first my marriage—after it her—her going away—believe me, I have tried to forget and forgive, but it will come back; and then my daughters—influenced, they are—who do not understand nor be- lieve in me. I am resigned to the will of my Heavenly Father, but I pray that He may gather me into His fold soon, and that there some little love awaits me!” And the clergyman walked home wiping his eyes, and he told his wife, who was trying to run~a six-cylinder establishment on-a two-cylinder income, and who bent above discouraging accounts, that Mr. Mil- ton was one of God’s saints. COPMICLOO KS (E@)