Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

282 ‘* Julia,” she said, ‘ what is the essential ingredient of a happy marriage?” ‘““T don’t know, dear.” Julia’s voice was stiffly level. ““Sameness of taste?” ~ 1 should think that would be a good insurance,” answered Julia. She was. writ- ing figures quickly, and all in the wrong column, ‘Put that up,” begged Frances, “ and talk to me; I need your help.” Julia drew a long breath, laid aside her cash-account, and turned to the damagingly pretty girl in the low chair. “Love,” said Frances, “is that essen- tial? Or is respect a better foundation? Is there anything like love, or is it ima- gined?”’ She plaited the edge of her neg- ligee and spoke, her restlessness showing her embarrassment. “I’ve thought,” she said, “that perhaps love is like the far north—known to be there by every one, seen or felt by few. And then—mother and father—she loved him, Wouldn’t sym-: pathy of taste be satisfactory?” Julia again turned to her accounts, After a moment she spoke, still scanning her book, still writing. “Is it Philip?” she asked, “Yes, and I don’t know what to do. Perhaps I do love him. How is one to know? Is that the nurse, Julia? I thought I heard some one in the hall.” Frances got up suddenly and went to the darkened doorway. She disappeared. When she re- entered she was smiling and her cheeks were flushed. ‘““She’s sleeping,” she whispered, ‘ and Miss Thompson was quite human. She thinks she is honestly better. Oh, Julia! I’m so heavenly happy I’m afraid I’m go- ing to cry!” CHAPTER XXIV, THE DREAM-GIRTs HEODORE HARGRAVES BRADLY, sitting in the warm noon sun of a southern California town, was reading a scenario and smiling. They almost always gave him immense pleasure. This one had been directed to the company’s star, Mae, and she had felt that it admirably suited ‘smell came _ back. THE ARGOSY. her temperament. She sat near him watch- ing his face, as he skimmed through the affair. Behind them was Mae’s bungalow, and far away, against an olive-green hill, stood the studios, which were destined to grow even beyond Charlie’s largest dreams. “Claude ties Gladys on the railroad track,” Hargraves read aloud, adding a speculative: ‘“ H-m!” “You could cut that,” said Mae,” but the public likes it. The most jaded guy will set on the edge of his chair till the hero comes along to cut the ropes.” “Tt don’t care,” said Hargraves. ‘ Use it if you want to, but it’s so done. What does Wilkins think of it?” Wilkins was the manager and producer. “He says,” replied Mae, “‘ that the kind of people who are going now will like it because it ain’t too deep for ’em. He says the women who scrub offices and do washes go most, and that they like rough stuff.” “Take it,” said Hargraves, standing up. He smiled down at Mae, picked up his hat, made his adieu, and started off. ‘‘ Wo- men who scrub offices and do washes,” echoed in his consciousness, and the old bringing back a thousand memories and sights. Delia’s roughened hands, and her rare, but wonderful tendernesses—the alley home and the smells and sounds of it. And his changed surroundings to-day in con- trast! What a world! What a world! He thought with pride of the wonderful success that the new venture was having; and, with another and a pardonable pride, of his really sane use of the sudden money. It had not gone into terra cotta Indian heads, nor champagne baths. “It’s been good,” he thought, “ mighty good. I ought to be a happy chap!” But his eyes clouded after the thought, for the smell of yellow soap brought hurts. It seemed to him that the Lord might have let him give Delia a few riotously happy, pink-silk, parlor-lamp days, a few at least; but he had never been able to do one thing for her! Her one good time had been a crowded excursion! He tried to imagine, but it was hard to take Delia out of calico and put her into silk, COPMICLOOOKS It rose around him, ° (C@