Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

—_ DINNER FOR CYNTHIA. matrimonial rot. Why, you’re going in- sane on the subject! Every time that boy’s out of sight for more than six hours, you jump to the conclusion that he’s married some harpy and—” “Well! You jumped with me!” ‘“Maybe so, that time. But I’ve got a dollar or two to bet that it “Il be the last time!” responded Jane Stone, as she rose and moved back to her favorite chair. “‘ I’m going to jam that boy into society and make a deal with the mother of some decent girl to have him vamped and married, pron- to! I’m getting sick of this! Hasn’t that jackass of a Towner brought up the eve- ning papers yet?” ‘““ The—oh, the papers?” Cornelia mur- mured softly, and smiled toward the win- dow in her rapt way as she thought of Nev- ille. “‘ He'll be bringing them in a mo- ment now.” “Gad!” puffed her mother as she ar- rived at the chair. The frightful strain, you see, was over. Neville Ronalds had been definitely located, all unensnared, and reaction was upon them. In Mrs. Stone this reaction took the form of an intermittent rumble; Cornelia “merely clasped her hands and smiled and sighed, again and again—and Towner ap- peared unexpectedly with: “ Mr. Forbes is calling, if you please.” “Ts he?” Mrs. Stone chuckled, as she glanced at the heavy watch on her wrist. “ Send him up.” ‘“‘ But we’ don’t need him now, mother,” Cornelia protested, when the butler had gone. “ We'll talk to him about something or other,” the elder lady grinned. “If I’ve got that chap trained down so fine that he can get here within eleven minutes of the time I send for him, I can’t tell him it’s a false alarm or—ah! How de do, Forbes?” “How do you do, Mrs. Stone?” smiled her attorney. ‘ And you, Mrs. Ronalds.” The former lady looked him over approv- ingly; he merited approval. At thirty-five he was as clean-cut and energetic a person as ever graced the legal profession. His eye was clear and his chest was out and his hands were big and strong; there was no nonsense or diffidence and no lost motion 167 about Philip Forbes. He drew up a chair and sat down as Mrs. Stone observed: “You're learning to move! It’s not fifteen minutes since I sent for you!” ‘“T didn’t know you’d done that,” Forbes said cheerfully. ‘I’ve been meaning to stop in here for two or three days—and this afternoon I had business with a fellow on the next block. What’s up? You think we're letting that Robinson affair lag?” “IT had some desire to question you about it.” ‘The office is looking after it and we'll have it all settled within the week,” the attorney said briskly. ‘‘ No, a more inti- mate matter brought me here—and before I go any farther, ladies, I want to say that I’m a lawyer, and not a private detective. What I did this time was done solely be- cause both of you—or Mrs. Ronalds, at any rate—were so hugely concerned. I’m not going to do any more of it!” “More of what?” asked Mrs. Stone. “What are you talking about?” “ Neville!” “What? What about Neville?” mother asked swiftly. ‘ And the girl!” Mr. Forbes supplement- ed, with a weary smile. “ The one you’ve been worrying about so much lately—the one you’ve been consulting me about, off and on—the one Neville’s supposedly on the verge of marrying. The girl, anyway, I assume!” Mrs. Ronalds leaned ad tensely. “Who is she?” “1’m coming to that,” Forbes said un- emotionally. ‘I stumbled on them one night last week—Thursday, I believe—just leaving a restaurant. Neville didn’t see me. They called a taxi and I acted on the impulse of the moment and called another and followed them to her home.” “ And that is—where?” Neville’s mother breathed. Mr. Forbes turned several pages of his loose-leaf book and tore out one of them. “That’s the address,” he said, passing it to Mrs. Ronalds. “It’s a fairly good flat- house. I waited on the corner for a few minutes after they’d entered. I then went in and made an inquiry or two of the ele- vator man. She is a Miss Blair!” his Gomichbooks (E@)