Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

848 in fact, no son could be treated better, watched over more solicitously! And Hen- drie. He had made it possible for him to do the sort of thing he’d enjoy, and still get paid for it. And the village youngsters —they tagged him around like he was an organ grinder. Lastly, take Reedy. Iron Reedy. A hard, even a ruthless man, by reputation. One who never lost sight of the main chance, The text for many a fervid sermon! Yet he, too, had tried to steer the Slapper right; to keep him from getting tied up in the crooked stuff that he dealt in. And now he was dead, without heirs, his dubious money all left to St. Joseph’s Orphanage! It looked as if everything and every one was conspiring to keep the Slapper here, in the place he had so bitterly hated at first, and where he had suffered such pangs of loneliness. Even now, he was not deceived. There were just as mean people here as in the city; just as selfish. Not as dangerous, perhaps, because in so small a place you THE U U ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. couldn’t pull the rough stuff without getting found out almost at once. But as bad at heart, and also as good. It certainly was one grand little place to condition in! Es- pecially for city kids. He must manage to ring in the little Polacks on Hendrie’s first consignment. ; He turned to Letty, sitting beside him underneath the locust. His lips twitched in a mischievous smile, ‘That Hendrie place, now, wouldn’t be bad for a honeymoon,” he suggested. ‘“‘ And one thing, we’d have a start no other young couple ever did!”’ “ How’s that?” she innocently asked. “ Well, we’d be spotted twenty kids, wouldn’t we?” Her voice came muffled by his shoulder. “Do you think that’s a nice thing to say?” ‘Sure it is! said!” After a long silence he remarked tolerant- ly: “ Wedlock ain’t so bad, after all!” For a starter, was what I END U A LEGEND OF ANNSVILLE CREEK HERE blue and rippling Annsville Creek in sylvan beauty glides Between its quiet banks to join the Hudson’s silver tides, While yet the redman’s paddle stroked the dancing river waves, And ancient woodland trails more thick with swift and stealthy braves, When bright October wrapped the trees in blankets red and gold, And lighted all her sumac fires because the nights were cold, Fair Ann, a village maiden, met one morning long ago A roving Mohawk warrior with eagle plume and bow. Perhaps it was the forest spell that lured her girlish feet, Perhaps it was a wild dark eye that flashed a message sweet, But whether it was love or force that carried her away A white bride to the Mohawk’s lodge that autumn came to stay; And ever when the frost returns to paint the heights above, Ann and her chief again renew the legend of their love Among the gold and crimson leaves, and if, behold! you seek The confirmation of the tale, why, there is Annsville Creek. Minna Irving. 3 A COMmicloo (C (©