Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

320 Hardware and Machinery Company, almost slid from his polished swivel chair six weeks later when he received a check and letter for a full equipment of sand and gravel machinery, excavator, screener and con- veyor, from Sanderson Blake of Ferndale, New Jersey, carrying a one-legged Venus and a Santa Claus at the bottom of the letter, with a P. S. to “ Rush shipment.” When the machinery had been installed Lv} w ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, and ten thousand dollars’ worth of sand and gravel had been excavated and delivered on the roadside to the Keystone Construc- tion Company, the grown-up pirate called at the Lambert house and informed a cer- tain girl that the ship was ready to sail and that a cook just like her was badly needed. And they still call him Sand, and he is still getting richer and richer from it. U Uw THE WEB OF LIFE "THERE is many a rose in the road of life, If we would only stop to take it; And many a tone from the better land, If the querulous heart would wake it. To the sunny soul that is full of hope, And whose beautiful trust ne’er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers bright, Though the winter storm prevaileth. Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, And to keep the eyes still lifted; For the sweet blue sky will still peep through, When the ominous clouds are rifted. There is never a night without a day, Or an evening without a morning; And the darkest hour, as proverbs say, Is the hour before the dawning. There is many a gem in the path of life, Which we pass in our idle pleasure, That is richer far than the jeweled crown Or the miser’s hoarded treasure; It may be the love of an absent friend, Or, a mother’s prayer to heaven, Or only a beggar’s grateful cry, For a cup of water given. lar better to weave in the web of life A bright and golden filling, And to do God’s will, with a cheerful heart, And hands that are ready and willing, Than to snap the delicate minute threads Of our curious lives asunder, And then blame heaven for the tangled end, And sit and grieve and wonder. Betty A. Beall. COmmiclool< (C@