The Argosy, Vol. XXIV No. 2 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

A TRADE DOLLAR TRAGEDY. 293 ““Have I not said that Makar’s word is inviolate?’’ the Arab resumed, leaning forward and uttering each syllable sharply and distinctly. ‘““Can Makar break his pledge?’’ and he turned to his solemn visaged ministers. ‘No, no, no,’’ they muttered in guttural accents, and solemnly shaking their heads. ; ‘‘Then hark ye all,’’ Makar went on. ‘‘I have sworn on the Koran that whatsoever prisoners fell to my lot should be delivered over as slaves to the Somalis of the Galla country., I have spoken. It is Kismet. At day- break ye start for the interior.’’ Sir Arthur staggered back against the wall with a dismal groan, the Hindoos fell on their knees begging piteously for mercy. Colonel Car- rington seemed dazed, stupefied, Guy clinched his hands and made a desperate effort to bear up bravely, while Melton’s face wore the same pale, hopeless expression. Noone spoke. Supplications and prayers would-alike be useless. The Arab’s stern, pitiless countenance spoke plainer than words. Mercy was an. ) p y unknown word in his vocabulary. “Spare us, spare us!’’ moaned Sir Arthur, coming forward a pace or two and making as though he would fall on his knees. ‘‘I have spoken,’’ cried Makar harshly. ‘‘ Words will avail ye nothing.’’ He made a signal to the guards, who at once closed in on the wretched captives and led them away. William Murray Graydon. (TO BE CONTINUED. ) A TRADE DOLLAR TRAGEDY. The entanglements precipitated upon an abettor of true love—Parts played in the plot by a jealous wife, a matched team, a disguised locket, and a rabbit. | EES is no use in denying the fact. I never mention it, and Julia does not know that it exists to mention; but—Julia is jealous. Heaven only knows why she should be. I never have too much time to devote to my own family, without looking about at other men’s wives. And as for young girls, it is ridiculous to suppose that they even realize that there is such a person as Dick Winthrop on the face of the earth. I confess that I am forty five, my hair is gray, and Iam growing stout. I look at the various appliances for reducing obesity as they are advertised in the daily papers, and wonder how a man has the requisite nerve to go upand ask an impudent young string of a drug clerk for one of the things. It is unconscious working of the mind, I suppose. I may be getting up sufficient momentum to go through the ordeal by the time I can no longer do without these assistances to a respectable figure. But Julia sees none of this. She has a water color portrait of myself that was made the year we were married. It shows a slim, drooping shouldered young man, with his hair waved over his brow, a lackadaisical expression, Conmicloooks