Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

268 drive you both out to the country. Mrs, Gilchrist would enjoy the ride.” , But Frank Hathaway was not at home. They waited half an hour for him. He didn’t come. Florence did not particularly enjoy her dinner, though it was a very good one. Mrs. Gilchrist, who tock a cup of coffee and an ice with them, was pleasant enough, but Florence always thought that she had a rather condescending manner, and, on her part, Mrs. Gilchrist had never thor- oughly approved of the girl, with her bobbed hair and her short skirts, though she was convinced of the efficiency of ‘‘that fresh young thing.” Florence was simply too nervous and impatient to eat, and she hurried her host away from the table before he had-really satisfied a normal male appe- tite which had been well sharpened by two hours of waiting. “The Streeter Hotel is where that man has his hangout,” she informed Mr. Gil- christ. To the Streeter Hotel, then, they pro- ceeded. Florence was for storming Covert’s room in person, but Gilchrist urged that it would be unseemly to do so, and, for fear of shocking Mrs. Gilchrist’s sensibilities too much, she allowed him to go. He returned almost immediately. ‘“ Frank’s there,” he informed the ladies. “He’s coming right down.” Down he came, shame-faced but resent- ful. The ride proceeded for several miles in silence. Finally—‘‘Well, how much did you lose to-night, Frank?” inquired the girl. “Oh, yes, I lost, of course,” replied the youth, bitterly. ‘ But I’d have won all right, if you hadn’t come to the hotel to bust up the game.” “That wasn’t what I asked” persisted his wife. ‘‘I asked, ‘how much did you lose.” ” Frank was silent for a moment. Then he blurted, ““Only a hundred and eighteen!” Gilchrist, at the wheel, whistled softly. Florence raised her clenched hands in des- peration, her finger-nails fairly cutting into her palms. “Pine!” she cried. “ Oh, isn’t it just fine! Almost three weeks’ salary for me! ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Three months’ rent shot to blazes in three hours—and our furniture not paid for yet. Oh, you—”’ Mr. Gilchrist thought it was time to in- terpose. “Take an old stager’s advice, Frank. I’ve been through the mill myself, and I can tell you something about it.” The estimable man was fond of deluding himself with the pretense—especially before Mrs. Gilchrist—that he had once been a devil of a fellow. His gambling experience had been confined to a very few games of penny-ante with some less serious-minded lads at the business school through which he had worked: his pledding way, back in_ the eighties. This indulgence, bitterly re- pented at the time, for financial reasons, was now garnered in his memory and highly prized as his only crop of wild oats. “When I was at college,” he continued, oracularly, ‘““I took a long and expensive course in the Great American Game. I learned very thoroughly—that I couldn’t play it. There isn’t anybody who can play it unless he makes a business of it and even then he’s likely to slip. But the fel- lows that do play it get all their profits from the fellows who keep playing to win back what they’ve lost.” “But, Frank,’ pursued the young woman, “how did you pay him all that money ?”’ ‘Gave him my check, of course,” said her husband, with injured dignity. “Your check! Since when have you had a hundred and eighteen dollars in the bank?” ‘““ Well, I—I raised a little money to-day. Was going to tell you about it when I came up to your office, but you were too busy chasing twenty-two cents for the store.” Florence Hathaway deemed it wise not to press the inquiry further at that moment, but, as she looked unseeingly at the pretty farmhouses and the friendly hills which they were passing, she tried to formulate a plan of action. It was still a little hazy when the Gilchrists left them at her father’s house. Angus McGowan had been a _ small builder in the city. His means had always been meager. Broken in health, he had JOO! com cS) (E@)