Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

WHITE EYE. had buoyed up her sinking spirits for the moment. She lay exhausted for a little space. Then she turned her face toward him, with undying love shining in the great dark eyes. ‘“‘ Kiss me, Laree! so! I love you so!” Tenderly he raised the wasted form in his arms. And with his kiss still warm upon her lips Carmencita passed into the Great Mystery. For, oh, I love you VI. THE days following were days of sad- ness for Larry. He reproached himself for ever having thought that Carmencita felt only an infatuation for him. How she must have loved, this wild, impulsive girl! She had sacrificed happiness, life—everything, upon the altar of her devotion. How free from sham were the lives of these simple, undeveloped Indian people. He marveled at the depths of feeling hidden beneath their laughter and tears. Well, love ought to be like that. But how few could ask so little in return as Carmencita, or face death so unflinchingly as Braulio for an ideal! He had called them children before he knew so much about them. Yes, children they were—children of the sun, taking life, love, and death, as the gifts of the great God. Braulio was the house-boy once more, happy that he had his patroncito back where he could look after him to better advantage. Had he not always said this patron was just a little loco? Packing up and leaving in such a hurry, dragging one all over the world, and coming back to the same spot. Maybe he would settle down and live properly now. ‘These gringos were queer people. “Larry, want you to serve on the re- ception committee at the club to-morrow.” The speaker was one of the members of the American club. “Sorry, Kelvin. I have to go out on some work. Won’t get back until late. What’s the occasion?”’ ‘“‘ Have to entertain that school ma’ams’ excursion Uncle Sam is sending down to look at the Canal. They'll be here about twelve hours.” 195 “Well, I’m sorry. I’d kind of like to see some Yankee girls again. But I can’t possibly stay.” The conversation occurred in the office one morning several weeks after Carmen- cita’s death. Larry had plunged into his work with tireless energy. He was endeav- oring to forget that last scene by filling every moment of his time. The day the teachers arrived he did not return from out of town until late in the evening. After dinner he decided to stroll around by the club, to see if by chance they were still in the city. He found them mak- ing preparations to depart, the conductor having announced that the train would leave in half an hour. How the sight of those fair-skinned faces reminded him of old days! A wave of homesickness such as he had not felt since his first few months in the tropics swept over him as he watched them. The sound of their laughter; their voices speaking his own language; the familiar types of faces —these things stirred him to the depths. Something in their poise and the un- affected grace of their movements, which no other women can assume, filled him with a desire to mingle with them. He regretted profoundly the circumstances which had prevented him from spending the day with them. They were leaving now, and he felt a great loneliness. Some of them were young girls. They reminded him of Lucille. Perhaps she was a teacher—his mother had said she was working somewhere. He strolled out into the courtyard of the club. He didn’t want them to see how deeply their presence affected him. Funny how just the sight of girls from home could bring the tears to a fellow’s eyes. He didn’t realize how badly he had wanted to see Lucille again until the sight of these young women brought all the old memories rush- ing into his heart. He wondered if she ever thought of him with the same longing. No, it couldn’t be. She would have answered his letters if she had. His mind engrossed with these reflections, he strolled toward the end of the court- yard where the moonlight streamed down through the drooping palms, touching their graceful fronds with silver. CoOnniclooo SS (©