Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

x warmly. ‘They should only be written. _ I’ve had a lot to think about, myself—I began to miss you. Isn’t that a fine confes- sion for a confirmed hermit!” “I’m glad you missed me, I'd hate to be forgotten—before even I had left!” She laughed happily. ‘‘ Among other things I forgot to give you —and Mr. Burchard—was my best wishes for your happiness together. I do wish you luck—all the luck in the world. You de- serve to be very happy—” “I think we will. - George is a—decent sort. Game, too. You know, he’s ruined?” ‘* As bad as that!” “ Yes, the salmon thing left us flat. But he doesn’t mind. Nor for a minute! I never saw a man so little staggered. One would think he had an unfailing recipe for getting money. It’s—almost uncanny.” Dean noticed she looked rather thought- ful. The Falcon’s tender had been rowed to the beach by two men and was waiting for them. A plume of steam drifted idly from the yacht’s safety vent, and as they drew alongside they could hear voices and the clink of tools from the engine-room. Darkness was closing in, and a boisterous little wind blowing as they went below. _ ~Marta excused herself to dress for dinner, declaring with a happy laugh she was going to make this “a regular party.” Burchard entertained his guest with a shrewd instinct for things that would interest him, and Dean found himself making a generous ef- fort to like his host. He did not succeed very well. : It was “a regular party.” Weejee laid the board with dainty fresh linen and arranged a centerpiece of flowers Marta had brought, with much hissing through his teeth and clucks of artistic tem- perament. There was more silver than Dean had seen in many years, and much shining glass. Then Marta appeared again, and her appearance brought both men to their feet, staring. From the little steamer trunk, which seemed as inexhaustible as Aladdin’s lamp, ~ she had unpacked an evening dress that laid bare her creamy shoulders and breast, and her round, smooth arms. The stuff was RESURRECTION DAY. 45 golden in hue and embroidered with gold thread. It made of the young woman a young goddess, and the knowledge of that heightened her color and the sparkle of her eyes—beauty feeding on its own flames. ‘Oh, here, this is unfair,” Burchard pro- tested. ‘‘ I should wear a dinner coat.” “Worse than .unfair,” Dean cried. “I haven’t seen a dinner coat since I was old enough to vote.”’ “‘T don’t care a bit. I told you I wanted a party—and I’m going to feel like one if I like!” Weejee, with assistance in the galley, had built a course dinner from the Falcon’s canned stuff and the supplies of the refrig- erator. Dean marveled openly at the fare, ' and ate with relish, thinking of other din- ners, long ago. Burchard’s wine he refused, and the host was the only one to taste it. When the little table was cleared again and Weejee gone, the two men smoked and the three of them talked. Dean had no notion of time. Doors of memory, long closed, were wide again. He heard of the ‘world and all the frivolous things that had once seemed so important. With surprising lack of jarring he found himself suddenly a part of that world and talking readily and . eagerly of places, events and persons thou- sands of miles away, and as far from his own existence as the moon from the earth. He was hungry for information, ridiculously flattered .to find a common language with these two. Whether the evening was late or early he had no notion. When Weejee came with imperturbable face and beckoned Burchard out, whisper- ing in his ear, Dean was glad. He wanted Marta to himself. _ His eyes dwelt greedily on the perfection of her young body. Her frank interest in him was a wine far more poter:t than any ‘Burchard kept. He was glad to forget Bur- chard; glad to forget Burchard had a claim to this woman. He was glad to forget everything, contented to drift for this brief time of happiness, intoxicated by the beauty ‘and nearness of a rare, golden girl. It was Marta who brought him back to reality with a terrible suddenness. ‘“ Do you know,” he had said, a little unsteadily, carried away by impulse, “ Burchard’s the COMmiclbooa CO@