Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

200 ‘Yes, it’s a plumber or steam fitter, or something,” she said. ‘“ Our car hit his the other day, and I guess he’s determined to collect heavy damages, even if he has to blackmail us for it. The crash injured his head, and anyway he’s well known as a drunkard and wife beater. And he comes around annoying us. He told Alicia that he is bent on seeing her again. I want to keep him away.” He smiled upon her reassuringly. will,” he said. By this time they were swinging into the grounds of Northover, and Brent was whisking them up the drive. * It’s a chance to serve you,” he pointed out. ‘A good sign.” Alicia ran from the door to greet the returning Marion. In her hand she held an opened envelope. “Hello, Douglas!” she cried. “So glad you came down!” Then she ignored him, turning her sky blue eyes, bright with tri- umph, upon Marion. “I told you he is no ordinary laborer!” she cried. Marion remembered Mr. Dudberry’s in- formation. “No,” she admitted. he is.” “We “1 don’t think IX, Tur basis of Alicia’s renewed faith in the extraordinary qualities of Mr. Drayton, it seems, was contained in a letter which that morning had been delivered by a smudgy faced boy with a bandaged hand. “One of the children, I suppose,” said Marion brightly. “Marion, you are incorrigible,” Alicia pointed out. “ But read that letter, ‘Marion. Read that letter, and then tell me if it was sent by an ordinary laboring man,” Marion read the letter, and she blinked with surprise as she did so. This I have to hold to my heart, This to take by the hand: Sweet we were for a summer month As the sun on the dry, white sand: Mild we were for a summer month As the wind from over the weirs; And blessed be death, that hushed with salt The harsh and slovenly years! ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘“ Mild we were?” repeated Marion. ‘* ‘Well, ask Cowper.” She read on: A fugitive verse out of Millay, Something to fit a mood and to tell you that I will come to your bower this night and hush all those dead, futile years which I lived before we met. “Isn’t that a lovely piece of verse?” ex- ulted Alicia. ‘“‘ He seems to have a native feeling for the beautiful things of life.” ““ My dear Alicia, he merely has a nasty knock on the head. Of course you won’t notice this evidence of his injuries?” Alicia did not answer her. Instead, she stood and regarded her companion with a steady glance in which reproach was min- gled with disdain. She turned and left the room, speaking as she halted for a moment in the doorway. “When this poor gentleman comes,” she said, “ he will find that I am ready to re- ceive him. I cannot think of any reason to mistreat him, unless it might be because we are conscious of having injured him.” A perceptible silence followed her exit. ‘You see?”’ Marion appealed to Gilfillan, who waited at her elbow. ‘ That street cleaner has so worked upon Alicia’s feelings that she’ll be mortgaging the old homestead to pay his damage claims before we know it. She thinks he’s romantic. My dear Doug, if you could have only seen the ro- mantic manner in which he remembered that Brent was to blame in running him down! MHe’s as romantic as Laura Jean Libbey: a space rate for every heart throb.” “Do you think he’ll come to-night?” “T think he’ll try to come. Do you know what was in that letter?” “ An invitation to Northover.”’ * What is Millay?” she asked. * Search me. I think it’s either a French diminutive for the name Millicent, or some kind of rolled oat.” Marion shook her head. “ It’s one of the latest poets. That let- ter was made up mostly of verses from Mil- lay, and for the rest from what inspiration he could get out of them. ‘ Sweet were we—’ Ye gods! Of course he got a pretty bad bang on the head, you know.” Gomuicbook (C@)