The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

THE FATAL PHOTO. “Now we'll see who your fair Un- known is,” he said, pulling out the card. Then he whistled so shrilly that others about us looked up as well as myself. Only J scowled. “Where do you think you are? ” I demanded, delivering a warning kick under the table. “Gee! She’s a stunner. I swear I didn’t know there was a girl like that in the whole push at the Frivolity. Pll go in at the front to-morrow night and look them over.” Then he passed the card to me. I suppose it must be the fault of my bringing up, but although I know that the stage is as decent as any other pro- fession, and that the ranks are full of hard-working, honest women, yet I shy hke a greenhorn at the make-up and the frivolous apparel usually displayed in a stage photo. I expected to sec a bold looking girl, of some beauty perhaps, but with dark- ened eyes and an exhibition of more bare flesh than would be considered modest in ordinary walks of life. But one glance and I was as astounded as Jackson appeared to be. The card was a small! cabinet size, and the picture was fastened by its corners to the center of the mat. There was no photographer's name upon it anywhere. It really looked like an ama- teur’s work, only the picture was ex- cellently finished. But the photo itself—well, the im- pression it made upon me was really startling. It was a full length picture of a tall, magnificently formed and magnificently gowned woman; but her face was what held my gaze. Fair, rather proud, but with kind eyes, and not a sign of having been “made up” for the sitting. The whole effect was rather dashing, I admit; but it was by no means stagey. “ Who is she?” I demanded, in won- der. “Humph! I[’d better ask you that,” said Jackson. “She seems to be your friend,” and he cackled over the joke. “Ts that the sort of looking women thev have at the Frivolity? ” I pursued. “Tf they do, they’re peaches,” de- clared Jackson. “ And vou have no idea who she is?” 119 “If she’s one of the profesh, she hasn’t struck Manhattan,” he said con- fidently. “ I’d like to know who sent it out to you.” “Oh, it was not meant for me,” I cried, flushing. ! “TI bet it was—and the first time you ever went behind the scenes, too. You’re a winner, you are!” and he laughed again. I don’t know why it should, but his raillery exasperated me desperately. I almost returned a sharp answer. As it was, I immediately lost all in- terest in the pretty face on the card, and, shoving it hastily into the en- velope, let it lie on the table as we rose to leave the restaurant. Now, I had no intention of carrying the thing away with me, and Jackson did not see that I had neglected to slip it into my pocket; but I declare, before we had reached the sidewalk a waiter came running after us and thrust that condemned envelope into my hand. “Yes, sir, you forgot this, sir,” he sald, bowing and grinning like the ‘jack- anapes he was. He got no tip; I wanted to “ skip ” ‘the photo across the street, only Jack- son was watching. But when we reached home I deposit- ed the card in the waste-basket, and we went to bed. Jackson was up first in the morning, and I’m hanged if he didn’t fish the thing out and rearrange my photographs on ‘the mantel to place if at one end. At the other end was the picture of Amy Cartell. I was rather shocked to see that her photograph and that of the Unknown were about of a size and exactly the same shape. ‘Leave it be!” exclaimed Jackson, when he saw I wouid have taken my new acquisition down. “ They balance each other so nicely. There’s old Joe’s best girl at one end, and at the other his theatrical favorite.” Well, I wouldn’t give him the satis- faction of seeing that I was put out bv it, so I allowed the strange photo to stand—for the present. When he came home that evening almost his first words were: “ Well, ’m hanged if I can find your pretty girl, Joc. Shes not at the DOO (COL YY \ S) COL