Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

>. ™ oe yy Ea ae) zs. 7 : ph “ } ‘ ’ ; a 4 > Ee “3 — A HRS var ed 4 . y “ 296 Very properly Elisa blushed—and a jew- eled hand crept slowly to her bosom. Sit- ting there beside her Salambo turned, like the Latin cavalier that he was, and looked at the white pearls in her ears, the soft, brown complexion, the slender, birdlike neck, and the little near white hands. ‘“ Elisa,” he whispered, ‘ I love you dear- ly.” It startled her—the way he said it. As if she didn’t know it already. So like Salambo, so like the talking poet in him. “Qh,” she cried, ‘‘ oh, if only I knew how to show you how much I care!” ‘Enough, Elisa,’ Salambo softly. “Come, mis hitas,” the old padre an- nounced, “ let us get on with the wedding.” Salambo hunted for the ring. Where was it? Was he so absent minded as to have left it aboard the ship? Now—let me see—ah, there it was. In his valise. The ring in his hand, Salambo, as a poem went swimming through his head, led Elisa to the altar. After the wedding and the guests had betaken themselves to the other part of the dingy hut and sat down to the bridal supper, Salambo was alarmed at the sound of some one knocking at the door. “Go and. see who it is, Elisa,” the old lady murmured. “If it is that old wretch, Carmencita Salzedo, don’t let her in. Let her get a daughter of her own and see her married off.” “No, let me go,’ Salambo volunteered, “ll be right back.” At the door, blowing, sweating, stuffed like a peacock, Salambo gasped as he saw the night black face of the Silver King. “Jess got thoo feeding up,” the Silver King wheezed. “Dam! Ef it ain’t hot. Boy, how kin you stand th¥s heat?” “Come on, Silver King, I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you wouldn’t be able to make it, after all.” : “Yeah, I thoughts I wouldn’ta made it maself, but I got thoo early. Where you folks at?” “In here. Come and let me introduce you to my wife.” “ Dam’, ef it ain’t hot!” the Silver King cried, mopping his forehead as he strode into the next room. whispered ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Inside Elisa’s folks warmed to him. An- other man—and not a mere man, but an American, talking the glorious language of the United States! Why, look at the pretty clothes he wore! The check suit, with white embroidered vest to match, the large, black dotted green tie, the stiff, white collar, and the oily plastered hair, off of which he had half an hour before taken a skull cap. In- deed, as Salambo presented the Silver King he felt proud and honored at the way the folks literally took him to their bosoms. ‘“‘ Salambo, you tell de folks I is mighty glad to be here—you know what I means.” Nods of approval greeted this. The priest, satisfied that he belonged there, ordered the supper served. Sitting beside Elisa, Salambo drew a manuscript from his pocket, much to the horror of the Silver King. ‘‘ Bafo’ you reads any o’ dat poetry,” he interposed, “‘ jess ‘low me to get rid o’ this.” Standing up, the Silver King extracted from his bosom, his coat pockets, his vest, his shoe tops, his waist, his sleeves, one by one, knives, forks, spoons, platters. Never in all their lives did those humble peasant folk see such an assemblage of precious metal. Silver! Never in all their lives did they see such treasures that glittered in the candlelight like the emblazoning rays of the morning sun. It dug up in the retro- spective mind of the padre lurid tales of the English pirate Morgan and his bloody con- quest of the Spanish Main. It will go down in history, this splendid array of silver at Elisa’s wedding, the padre decided. Silent- ly he sent up praises to the Lord. Elisa’s eyes roved over the jingling metal as the Silver King, with studied indifference, continued to throw it on the table. It was a crowning triumph to her idealistic courtship—this gorgeous display of glowing silver. How the other less fortunate girls in the village would envy her! How they would come for days on all sorts of pre- tenses just to get a glimpse of her beautiful silver. The girl’s eyes danced from the table to the stalwart form of the Silver King as he threw the last fork on the table, slowly sat down, and mopped his steaming fore- head. “Dany if it ain’t hot!” COPMICLOOOKS (E@)