Argosy All-Story Weekly, March 15, 1924 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

THE CON# ~ “Don’t,” she cried. “ He won’t listen to you.” “He doesn’t have to,” “ That’s in the constitution. But he can’t prevent me from talking.” He turned to the door. ‘“That’s in the constitution, too, you know. Right of free speech. “You go and sit in the car,” he advised her. Then he saw that she had expected to enter with him. “ Better not come in. It ‘would look like collusion.” She smiled her understanding, entered, said Corvan. and he CHAPTER VIII. A BLINDING HOPE. r YHEN Corvan entered the living room of Trench’s cottagé, the invalid -was sitting in a rocking chair. His face was pale, and his head was bandaged, he stared vacantly at his mother ‘who spoke in a low voice with the doctor. Albert Trench scowled hopelessly at the carpet. ‘Good morning,” said Corvan. The mother came forward. Because of the assaults of life, she appeared old before ‘her time. “JT guess you’re Mr. Corvan,” she greet- ed him, “‘ who took the old Humphrey place. It was real kind of you to help Harold like you did. Albert, this is the gentleman who brought Harold home, and he went for the doctor, too.” | Albert Trench came forward and shook hands with Corvan. “Thank you kindly,” he said. “Don’t bother about that,” said Corvan cheerily. ‘ It was the young lady.” Then he turned his personality upon the room. An army of the mute, obscure vic- tims of the Great Corvan could have warned those people then that they stood no chance whatever. The best confidence man of his generation was about to put over a deal on them. “What would you say was the nature of this case, doctor?” he asked heartily. ‘The doctor took upon himself a heavy dignity. _ A form of epilepsy. Inherited, I should say ’—he glanced at the mother, consider- ately—‘ from some remote source.’ JEN CIs and father. - himself. smile; not too patronizing; not too irritat- MAN, 661 Corvan elevated a surprised eyebrow. “Really? He’s been afflicted since birth, eh?” “Qh, 0,” said Mrs. Trench, “no, in- deed. Harold was quite all right until— until he was seven years old.” She turned tear filled eyes away. “ Well, that seems to do away with any idea of inheritance!” Corvan protested. Dr. Stevens scowled. “You ask for information,” he snapped. “Tt isn’t customary to take every stranger into the details of a case.’ “Of course not. But, as it happens, I’ve had a good deal of experience with epilepsy. I take it that you have, too, doc- ‘“ Epileptics don’t form the major part of our population, Mr. Corvan.” Dr. Stevens assumed an acidity which should have curled the stranger up. But it didn’t. “Of course not. But I have been able to study no less than a dozen cases in my time, and I assure you they were very ‘interesting. Happily, some of them were cured.” , @ | | “Cured!” It was a cry of hope which 4 sprang simultaneously from both mother “Yes, cured. You know a percentage of tach cases can be cured.” “Nonsense!” Dr. Stevens quite forgot “Mr. Corvan, you don’t seem to understand the situation here. You raise false hopes in these good people. The cure | of a case of epilepsy is so rare as to be ar ° most miraculous.” Corvan smiled just the right sort of ing. “ Of course, you-don’t have much oppor- - tunity to keep abreast of things down here, Dr. Stevens. But what I tell you is an ab- solute fact. My very close friend, Dr. Compton of Battleberg; Michigan, is the greatest authority on a certain form of epi- lepsy in the world; and at least thirty per cent of the cases he treats are cured. Have you ever looked into the possibilities of the Peyer’s glands, Dr. Stevens?” Fhe mother and father of the inv alia were now standing still, and tense, engross¢ in the momentous debate.