Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

WHEN A MAN’S BROKE. His disclosures, although incoherent, con- firmed Stephen’s estimate of the syndicate pair. At least these sharpers admitted that the lode had immense value. Here was a little solace for Nell. Another comforter, it seemed, awaited her in the spruce grove. Laird spoke from the shadows as she slipped away from the house. “Miss Frazer, may I have a word?” “Surely.” His manner was courteous and concerned. “T want to hint to you, Miss Frazer, that there was a reason behind what happened this afternoon. There will be another offer.” ‘““A hazy hope, don’t you think, Mr. Laird, to hold out to a man whose heart you’ve broken?”’ “Things aren’t what they seem,” he per- sisted. ‘‘ Lutwell’s peculiar. Don’t take him too seriously.”’ ‘YT don’t—any more,” said Nell. Upon the bowlder under the evergreens she settled wearily beside her other sym- pathizer, the lowly Steve Brown. He cov- ered her hand with his. ‘Poor child,” he said. pa ‘“Now that we both are poor, do you feel better?” she asked with a sigh. They compared notes on the trials of the day. “What was their proposition,” he asked, “that rasped your father so?” “ Steve, they asked him if he would like to let his lode be used in a stock-selling campaign—a swindle that’s just within the law.” . “Tt was rotten advice, Nell. You people mustn’t have any more dealings with these crooks.” “Mr. Laird hinted just now that they would make us another offer.” ‘Put them off,” said Steve. ‘‘ Give me time to go to Denver and drag a couple of millionaires up here. You don’t have to do business with pikers.”’ , ‘““ Papa has tried Denver, Steve.” ‘“ Maybe he was a poor salesman.”’ She granted that readily. Her father’s code of ethics was that of the professional man; he dreaded the notion advertising any product of his own, ee a LR EE ee a a et ae ail se i a 511 “But mining is a business,” objected Steve. ‘‘ You can advertise a business, can’t you? Did I debase myself when I adver- tised the Honeyman post-hole digger?” “No, Steve; but you know papa. Mr. Lutwell spoke of buying pages in Sunday newspapers to tell about our prospect. It hurt papa as much as the temptation to be dishonest.”’ The song of the mountain creek was al- most a dirge to-night, and the tips of the spruce boughs swayed in the breeze like funeral plumes. Through the gloom stole Janet to take her place with the mourners. “Ts he still asleep?”’ Nell queried. “Yes, sister.” ‘“ What made you leave him?” “Mr. Lutwell asked to sit beside him a while—and I didn’t want to sit beside Mr. Lutwell.” “We must go back in a minute,” said Nell. To the family disappointment Janet had resigned herself except in one particular. ‘TI can give up the bungalow in Pasa- dena,” she declared, ‘“‘ and the houseboat in Florida, and the voyage to Europe. But how can I look Billy Watkins in the face again, after my bragging last Sunday?” Her sister sympathized. ‘“‘ Poor Janet. A little magnificence would have pleased her so. She’s only nineteen, you know.”’ Steve offered brotherly counsel. ‘ Janet, my child, if Bill Watkins ever says platinum to you, just you say mules to him—”’ And then, thinking of the Watkins mules, he began to hear a whisper out of his inner consciousness, or wherever it is that attacks of inspiration have their start. He sprang up from the rock so vigorously that Janet asked: ‘‘ What stung you, Steve?” ‘““ An idea,” he answered fiercely. ‘“‘ Keep still. Let me think.” They kept still and let him think. The spruce boughs ceased their somber tossing, and the creek seemed to liven its tune as he tramped up and down before the rock. His pace increased as the idea fastened its hold upon him. From his pocket he pulled a knife, a tobacco plug, and fifty-five cents in silver. Scornfully he glared at this meager wealth. COMMIELOOKS nap com aol . ee Ne bya ee ae