Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

312 “Yes, but don’t forget you’re a different looking girl now—lost your looks all right, Rosie!” taunted Archie. ‘“‘ Not sayin’ much the kind of a husband I got, is it? Never a cent to buy nothin’ with—you spendin’ all your wages on yer own pretty looks.” ‘Then suddenly: “ Say, what’s all the extra dollin’ up about, any- way—tryin’ to make a hit with that Turn- - bull kid?” Maybe it was the sneer in Rosie’s voice, perhaps it was the scratch of the cat out of the bag—whatever it was, one might have thought from the way it affected Archie that Rosie had not only hit the nail on the head, but had also let the hammer fall on his sensitive tapering thumb. He colored violently—almost choked over a “ Shut up!” and bit vigorously on the thumb nail. Then the plebeian incense gave him the cue. “Can’t you open the window? Do you want me smelling from head to foot with that corned beef and cabbage?” “ Didn’t leave no bank roll for quail or squab, did you?” flung back Rosie. ‘Bah! What can I expect—married to the likes of you!” The fight was on now. “‘ Well, she did it,” was Archie’s moral alibi that would exonerate him of anything that might happen thenceforth. “The likes of me, eh? Isthat so? Well, there’s others that want me—could support me fine, too—only I’m tryin’ to live up to my marriage vows!” Rosie hurled this over her shoulder as she threw up the window. “Bah! Take a look at yourself in the glass! Better try some other way of trying to hold me—can’t bluff me into jealousy with silly threats—you’re long past them days, Rosie.” Archie turned away from the mirror. He was satisfied with himself and his clothes—he was bored with Rosie—he felt that he had won out in the skirmish— so he strode jauntily to the door. He smiled. He was leaving Rosie—he was on his way to Ellin Turnbull. Rosie saw the smile. ‘ Good-by, Archie,” she began gently and started to follow him. “ Can’t you kiss me?” “Cut out the soft stuff!’? he answered eruffly, avoiding her embrace. Rosie slipped her arm through his in an effort to “ make up.” ‘“ What do you want to do—muss me ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. all up just as I leave?” roared Archie as he brushed her aside roughly. “I thought maybe you might say good- by—I—” She stopped abruptly—the door had been slammed in her face. Jumping into the car, Archie sped as fast as possible from the gloom of Third Ave- nue. A few moments later, with the air and manner that belonged solely to the Turn- bulls’ “exclusive” chauffeur, Archie drew up before the white stone mansion where Ellin was tea-ing. He sat erect, with all the savoir faire of a transplanted viking. Presently the door of the mansion opened and Ellin walked eagerly through the Gothic doorway and down the steps. ‘ The park, Archie,” was all she said. Ellin stepped in, Archie closed the door, took his place at the wheel—and under- stood. As they turned into the park off Fifth Avenue, she gave the signal, and Archie lowered the window. Ellin took the initia- tive that made for social leveling, but Archie was quick to seize every opportunity, though adroitly discreet in his ascent into the place and role of equal. For unlike Ellin, he was not striving for sophistication — Archie knew. He let her quicken the tempo of the conversation, but to him belonged the com- piete mastery of the conversational steering gear. He let her skid about a bit, but he knew when to slow down—for Archie knew what he was about. When Ellin introduced topics that bred of intimacy beyond motor cars and drawing rooms, he mounted the staircase with her as it were, but Archie was careful to halt- at the first landing—he would go no further, no, not yet—not to-day. To-morrow? Maybe. As they were about to head for home, Ellin requested the Metropolitan Art Museum—there was something there she wanted to see—and something she wanted to show Archie. MHurriedly, fearing that some one who knew her might see them, she led him past the guard at the door and back te the Greek statuary room. “You see that?” said Ellin pointing to a statue. ‘“‘ That is Apollo—come now, I GOMIIGIOO S CG)