Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

got there. Finally she came to the conclu- sion that a witch was an angel in disguise. Unquestionably, the Echo would have been somewhat amused at being classified with angels. Ten dollars probably seemed to her a fair price for satisfying curiosity. CHAPTER: ~H. DANCING TO THE ECHO. VERY so often, 4 much-besought moon and a galaxy of temperamental stars gave promise of appearing at scheduled time to help light up the community ball- room—otherwise identified as. the school- yard, west of Avenue A. Then the municipally-hired bandsmen sauntered in with lofty condescension; dis- cussed among themselves many private mat- ters; and tuned and tested their instru- ments with precision and _ deliberation, After these and other preliminaries, they played. Still, it all was worth waiting for—as any skeptic would have been convinced, had he beheld the grand expanse of smooth pavement crowded with happy, enthusias- tic dancers, and the yard enclosure filled with appreciative music-lovers—all ages, from toothless grandmas to infants as tooth- less, being fitly and fully represented. A public dance in the neighborhood schoolyard might be the last place where one logically would look to find the mis- tress of the House of the Echo. Many a time the extraordinary woman strolled over to attend this function, however; occasion- ally remaining through all the folk dances, and for the Russians’ beloved Tchaikov- sky—early on the program—to the Ameri- can national air at the conclusion. She stood far in the background, and alone, which better pleased the other spec- tators. Many said that music was the Echo’s hobby; that from it she derived intellectu- al rather than emotional enjoyment—much as Joseph Yaroslav, the spade-bearded gla- zier, delighted to ponder over chess pro- blems while, between moves, he munched his kulick and drank his coffee at the bakers’ exchange coffee house. THE HOUSE OF * THE ECHO, Others, less kindly, intimated that she 223 came in order to oversee certain strangers; — young men and women who, mingling with the throng, labored (so gossip reported) to secure recruits for knavery. While disregarding all hearsay, it cannot be denied that this Saturday evening—of the day of the bookshop incident—the Echo keenly watched the dancing of two young persons in particular. Both were unknown to the neighborhood. One was a radiantly clothed, breezy-man- nered youth whose most recent alias was Michael Kazan; the other—a somewhat skimpily, but expensively attired young woman, handsome in a bold way—answered to the name of Zelda Carter. At first they danced together, then separated to seek partners among the crowd of spectators. By and by, the Echo was interested to see Kazan accost Sophia Nikolai, who, wishing an hour’s recreation, had come un- attended to the yard. The girl of the book- shop apparently refused Kazan a dance. Nevertheless, he persisted—until she turned from him, in indignation. To-night the Echo’s stay was short. Be- fore she left, however, she spoke in a low tone to Michael Kazan, as he passed care- lessly by her in his meanderings. Soon, Kazan also vanished. Subsequently he knocked at the door of that room, on the second floor of the inn, which to the initiated was known as the “ office.” | The Echo—always in black—sat in a straight, high-backed chair at her massive, ebony-finished desk that resembled a coun- cil table. She looked meditatively at Kazan. ‘I’m curious to know,” she said slowly, © ‘““why you wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, from that girl who—as I suppose you're aware—is clerk at the Ukrainian bookshop.” ‘Had reason to believe she would be in- terested,” was the evasive response. Now busying herself about the desk, the Echo continued in a matter-of-fact tone: ‘Tt was you, then, who lifted the ten dol- lars from the bookshop till.” Kazan, grinning shamefacedly, did not dispute the statement. The grin faded, however, when the Echo lifted her eyes. | (©) .DOOK ANC (E@)