Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

THE DANCING DOLL. “You know I care for you, George! Yes, U’ll do it! I know you'll do as you say.” The car had slackened speed as it ascend- ed a hill set with small villas and gardens. Before one of these it jerked to a standstill, and Jean Lenoir jumped out and rang the bell. George handed the waiter a bill. ““ Pay the taxi driver and give him a fat tip. Tell him to say nothing if he’s asked questions, and I'll make it worth his while. You beat it back to the café!” A moment later Gian’ Bori and his dried- up little wife were exclaiming in shrill Ital- ian at the atrocious wickedness of Pedro Valdez. ‘“ But it was a mistake to lay hands on that man,” cried Bori. “ I know how you feel. Many a time I’ve been tempted to treat him the same way, but he is too powerful.”’ “T’m not worried about what he can do to me,” said George. “Ill take a chance for myself, but what about Margot? If he throws her into jail as a suspicious character, he can do anything he likes with her.” ‘“‘ That’s true,” said Bori. ‘“‘ These café entertainers are all classed alike. She would get no consideration. If she were only mar- ried—if she only had a protector.” “Would that help some? If she were married to me, for instance?” “Sure, that would be different. If Val- dez had insulted .your wife, instead of a cabaret girl, and you struck him, public sympathy would be on your side. The newspapers, especially the opposition pa- pers, might play it up, appealing to the chivalry of the Latin race. It could be made an affair of honor. Valdez would be forced by public opinion to send you a challenge instead of throwing you into a cell.” ‘Then the big boss does care for what people say?” “Of course he does. Election time is not very far off. His reputation for hon- esty means nothing, but if anybody could say that he had avoided a duel by throw- ing his opponent into jail, the very street beggars would hiss at him. He wouldn’t dare to crawl out of an affair of honor.” 57 “Ts there no other way out?” cried Mar- got. “Why, don’t you want to marry George?” asked Bori in surprise. ‘‘ I should think that any girl would want to marry a fine man like him.” “T told her that the marriage could be a matter of form as long as she likes,” ex- plained George. ‘‘ She doesn’t have to live with me. She can even get a separation later on, if she wants to.” “You’d better do it, Miss Dalby,” said Gian’ Bori earnestly. “It’s the only way out.” ‘“* But can we be married without notice like this? Late at night?” “Don’t worry about that,” chuckled Bori. ‘“ The law is very flexible when you have political friends and plenty of money. I have a good friend, an official in the gov- ernment, Martin Aguirre. He lives in the same street and I can have him here in five minutes.” “You should be the happiest girl in the whole world,” cried Bori’s shriveled wife as she embraced the girl and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘A husband like that! A fine, handsome young fellow, and some day he’ll be rich!” Old Bori was at the door putting on his hat when George asked: ‘‘ How about the legal papers and all that? Will everything be all right?” Bori grinned at him knowingly. “I tell you, my friend is a government officiak. He knows how to unwind red tape. He has the right to marry you, and as for the necessary papers, he can fix them up after- ward. A few pieces of gold in the palm of a politician works miracles.” The door closed behind him. Signora Bori, who was all aflutter at the romance that had come into her monoto- nous life, trotted about in agitation, and finally bustled out of the room to find wine and cakes for the wedding feast. Her re- egret was that she could not have known long before. Ah, if she could have only helped to make a trousseau of white satin and lace for this beautiful bride—this lily of the north! If she could have had a week to prepare a real feast with many courses and various wines! COnmmicloool< (C@