Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

ixed by (4¢ orde Edgar Franklin Author of “ Everything But the Truth,” “ Annexing Bill,” ete. WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED EORGE DARE’S irrepressible tendency to “fix” things amounted almost to a disease, so much so that when taken to task by his bride of a twelvemonth for a particularly atrocious piece of muddle-headed meddling, harsh words led to the departure of his helpmate for home and—in this case—sister—condition, also married; habitat, somewhere in Jersey. About this time we find the handsome, dashing, equally married Dr. Arthur Poole extremely solicitous for the health of his patient, Angela Starr, daughter of the millionaire, with the result that he found it necessary to exercise a sort of personal supervision of the “ case,” so to speak: motor-rides, theater trips, etc.—all innocent, of course. But when tearful Mrs. Poole, first name Margery, poured out her heart to her old friend, George, the latter, while averring his belief in the doctor’s constancy, suggested a plan to bring matters to a head. Putting it in operation, he secured Arthur’s acceptance of an invitation for a little dinner-party at George’s Aunt Amanda’s vacant house in Coulton, proceeding thither with Mar- gery, Poole’s wife, Poole himself following with Angela. that was part of George’s plan. But there would be no dinner-party— But on arrival they found the house brilliantly lighted. Aunt Amanda had evidently returned home. witness the abduction of George’s car. up his collar. Then came the second blow, Hurriedly leaving the house, they were just in time to It had begun to rain—heavily, persistently. George turned “ Offhand, Margery,” he remarked grimly, “I should say that we were going to have it out with Aunt Amanda after all.” CHAPTER V. THE ONE UP-STAIRS. EORGE’S nature, as we have seen, was naturally most sympathetic. He was the type that stops and squats and interviews little children, when they stand alone upon the street and weep; and the sufferings of older folk affected him in pro- portion. At another time, he would fairly have boiled over with concern at the state into which Margery Poole had passed. Just now, he did not even simmer. He knew, subconsciously almost, that Mar- gery’s limited nerve had broken, and that she was trembling violently and sniffing in an ominous way, there in the dark beside him; he sensed vaguely that she was on the verge of unrestrained tears, if not of an ac- tual mild collapse, yet for the moment his thoughts hardly more than touched upon Margery’s pathetic: condition. They were really in a most embarrassing position. Had Aunt Amanda been some plump, kindly, credulous old lady, happy and benevolently beaming, as some old ladies really are, it would have been simple enough to return to the house, find her, tell the truth, and even enlist her aid. Aunt Amanda was not. Circumstances had fostered the natural wealth of suspicion in Aunt Amanda’s nature; she believed nothing of what she heard and only a little of what she saw. She was tall and very thin, with a hawk nose, and a pair of pene- trating eyes that scorned glasses. And yet, be she what she might, she would have to hear the truth and be made to believe it, and that in very short order. The idea of staying around and waiting for Poole and his charmer had been erased from George’s program some time since; indeed, the very thought of them sent a shiver through him now. They could not This story began in The Argosy for February 21. 195 . Gomichoo (©)