Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

222 Roustars might well have envied, and with which usually she employed her leisure moments. “Too busy moping about her sweet- heart!”’ The Echo, glancing toward the table, had lifted her veil and commented audibly in a cutting tone and with a manner that in anyone else would have been an impertin- ence. , ‘What is the trouble? Quarreled with him, I presume,” almost sneered this queer, elderly woman who never before had spoken to the girl of the bookshop. Although Sophia’s head—crowned with its wavy black locks—came barely to the chin of her visitor, she dignifiedly made the most of her scant inches. And her soft dark eyes were fixed resentfully on the Echo’s cold, patrician features as she protested: “JT have quarreled with nobody.” But she could not meet the challenging, piercing gaze. A will stronger than hers drew the ‘confession: ““T am in great trouble, Barina,” “Tf you can speak English, speak it,” said the other, irascibly. The confused Sophia apologized imme- diately. So many customers used only Russian or Ukrainian, she explained. Then, apparently determined to keep her own counsel, she closed her lips tightly. Again they were unlocked by force of the Echo’s will, and the words stumbled out: “Ten dollars has gone from the cash drawer. I do not know what to do. It will take me a long time to pay ten dollars. And Peter Rostoff will not be patient or lenient.” The Echo knew—as she knew most things—that Peter was a crusty old fellow who idled away most of his time, smoking in the cider saloon or discoursing with his crony, the manufacturer of butchers’ coats and aprons—while he left Sophia practical- ly in entire charge of the bookshop. Un- doubtedly, it would go hard with the girl. “Other girls, whose hands don’t seem as quick or clever as yours, have no trouble in raising ten dollars—and more,” signifi- cantly said the Echo. “TI believe there is some risk; still, with caution, police and prison often seem to be avoided—and where THE ARGOSY. do you find gain, without risk? Are you afraid of prison; my dear?” . The bookshop clerk trembled and paled as she listened to the hard, dry, contemptu- ous voice that thrilled by some uncanny power. Yet she responded courageously to the sarcastic taunt. “I am afraid of prison. But I would rather go to jail now, than do what you suggest!” : The Echo lifted her eyebrows. “TI sug- gest nothing,” she said, in amusement. Then, turning upon the girl, she demanded sharply: “ Haven’t you relative—friend—sweet- heart—who could help you out of this diffi- culty?” In spite of a struggle to keep silent, the girl found herself stammering: “Some day I am to marry Alan Dmitrieff, who works for his uncle Boris, at the Nevski Accordion Factory. But old ‘Uncle’ Boris can afford to pay very little, and Alan has so much to do with his money. He has genius—is studying to become a great musician. That takes money. No; I would not ask Alan for a penny.” Apart from worry over her predicament, the emotional strain engendered in her be- wildering conflict with the Echo had brought Sophia to the verge of tears. She was almost ready to believe that this mys- terious old woman was what the neighbor- hood termed her—a “ witch.” Obviously unconcerned about the girl’s distress, and following upon a reflective si- lence, the Echo questioned: “Does this Alan Dmitrieff play the violin?” “He is a violinist, although he plays piano and other instruments,” was the re- ply, in a choked voice. The Echo nodded, then observed caus- tically: ‘““'There’s no use of anyone whining over a ten-dollar bill. However, you seem quite helpless. Take this ten dollars—and pay me back in your own time. Say nothing to anyone about it. Absolutely nothing, you understand!” | The dazed Sophia found herself alone in the bookshop with a ten-dollar note in her hand, and wondering exactly how it had EORMICLOO® S (C@)