Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 27, 1925 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

S54 But Cynthia, standing behind her win- dow shutters as if beleaguered in her fort, saw in her the approach of an accuser, and she half crouched in the posture of an animal at bay. Her face darkened and her eves hardened into the glitter of preparation for a battle of self-preservation. This would be a struggle between women. Wade Murrell could no longer help her. Cynthia remembered a painting she had somewhere seen: a Christian martyr stand- ing in the dusty sun of the Circus at Rome, with eyes fixed on the iron-barred gate through which presently the lions were to be Jet in, She was hardly a Christian martyr, yet to her eyes the bedroom door became ‘an iron gate, and her situation became that of awaiting destruction. “So you're the cop on this beat, are you?” she snarled fiercely under her breath. “You damned Meddlesome Matty! Well, you may get me—but I'll give you the best I've got. I'll give you a run for your money before you send me back to jail!” Five minutes later there was a knock on the door, and, forcing a stiff smile that masked a ferocity of desperation, the girl opened it upon Aunt Ene and the locally canonized Saint of Doe Run. While the mountain woman was making introduction, Anne Purviance was looking at Cynthia Meade, and Cynthia Meade at Anne Purviance. There was feminine character gauging in each glance. To herself, the Bluegrass woman, who knew her New York and her Appalachia equally well, made immediate comment: “ Broadway! Broadway and the Forties.” To herself, Cynthia as quickly decided: “ Madison Avenue and the uplift bunk!” To each other, they said negligible things, like prize fighters sparring lightly before the slueging begins. Perhaps it was prearranged that the older woman-should at once leave these two alone together. Certainly Cynthia assumed that it was all a part of the heckling game of which she was to be the victim. “T understand,” began Anne Purviance, smiling, “that you come from Asheville, yet I fancy you're not a southern girl, are you?” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. A sudden gust of crazy passion swept the refugee, and under its buffet she lost her self-command—lost it completely and de. plorably. This woman knew of Asheville How much more did she know? Cynthia had told herself a minute ago that she must fence warily, patry diplo. matically. Now, her fighting instincts qj welled up with the gallant but brainleg savagery of a charging bull. Her sense reeled and gave way to a temporary chaps like lunacy. “What if I’m not a southern girl?” she demanded. “No, I’m not. I’m fron N’Yawk, and that’s a good enough place, if you ask me.”’ For a moment the visitor drew back and her fine eyes mirrored their astonishment at this rebuff. Then she spoke gently. “IT seem to have made a mistake,” she said. ‘I had no idea—”’ But Cynthia cut her savagely short. “Oh, I guess you had the idea all right enough. You know that people have been spreading rotten lies about me. Wade Murrell knows they’re lies—but his mother isn’t so sure. So she sends you in to give me the once-over. You're supposed to know everything in God’s world. I’ve heard what a female Solomon you are.” She broke off panting, her eyes blazing, possessed by a transport of demoniac rage that was all the cumulative overflow of her strained nerves. Then she drew back toward the wall and stood there defiantly, blazing- ly silent. ‘What reason could I have,” asked the perplexed visitor, her own temper evedly controlled, “to fall in with any plans (0 "Spread lies’ about you?” “Why should anybody horn in on othet People’s business?” Cynthia countere angrily. “God knows, I don’t. I suppo® it’s the mania that makes a certain sort atin want to run everybody art try | = T only know that lots of ai broke off woe 80 to itl” Suddenly, F tears el again and fell into a a ” face, © dropped into a chair and bi What have I ever done to you d " eee, * that you can’t leave me alone! m she ’ anted t ° stay here."comnic NOO SS Co