The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

PLAYING A SURE GAME. BY SEWARD W. HOPKINS. A Christmas story of summer skies, sail boats, and a new way to win a wife. R. DICK YARROW’S spare but athletic body was neatly clad in light colored flannels as he strolled from the majestic Moorish porch of the Ponce de Leon and made his way slowly toward the old fort. His face wore a solemn expression, as of one who was in deep study. And in truth he was. Mr. Yarrow was making up his mind. It is not every man who takes so long to make up his mind as did Mr. Yarrow on this occasion, and it may also be said, in truth, that Mr. Yarrow himself rarely occupied so much time in so simple an operation. But the prob- lem was unqualifiedly great. Reaching the fort, he rounded the gloomy old Spanish tower, and the gloominess of the tower was reflected in his heart. Having at last walked out on the great sea wall, he stood gazing listlessly out on a semi-tropic and dully calm sea. Mr. Yarrow then proceeded to take from his pocket a letter, which, in view of half a dozen tourists or summer vis- itors, he read for the hundred and tenth time. The letter ran thusly: Dearest Dick: I am desolate. Oh, wouldn’t this jar you? We are going to St. Augustine to spend the remainder of the winter. And you at Virginia Beach! Couldn’t you manage to go to St. Au- gustine to be there during the holidays? We could contrive to meet occasionally. The Rev. Reginald Van Noonck is to ac- company us. Ever meet the Reverend? He’s the worst that ever happened. But he is rich, and mama is determined. Oh, why didn’t you go into soap or hides or something, instead of literature —that bane of all men who don’t read? If I was a man I’d swear. But I don’t need to, for I know you will when you get this. But while you are swearing, don’t for- get I love only you. Go to St. Augustine if you can. The only signature attached to this interesting epistle was the letter KE. This stood for Eleanor. The other name of Eleanor was Thorpe. And Mr. Thorpe, the paternal ances- tor of Eleanor, was a dealer in hides, hence the significance of a few of her sentences. Mr. Yarrow, as will be seen by the fact that he emerged from the Ponce de Leon, had come to St. Augustine, and the Thorpes had not. Hence the gloom in Mr. Yarrow’s heart. Having read the letter for the hun- dred and eleventh time, Mr. Yarrow re- placed it in his pocket. He then said, “T will.” He stood a few minutes looking out to sea, and a porpoise began cavorting. Mr. Yarrow then said “I won’t.” What the porpoise had to do with it neither Mr. Yarrow nor I ever knew. In this undecided frame of mind Mr. Yarrow strolled further. He left the sea wall and wandered to the boat landing where old Sammy Kloom kept some boats. Mr. Sammy Kloom was one of the characters of St. Augustine. His black- ness was more than black. His smile was broader than a smile. His good nature was better than good nature. And his thrift went far ahead of thrift. “ Berry fine day, sah, for de fishin’,” said Sammy when the author of seven successful novels appeared. “ Yoh try yoh hand? ” “ Sammy, the indecision that now en- thralls me impels me to say I don’t know. What do you think?” “Haw! Haw! Yoh is sutt’nly de funnies’ man! W’at I tink? I tink yoh tak dat boat an’ go fish. Pompano bite like debbils now.” “Give us a line.” Mr. Kloom knew that “give us a line ” meant a great deal more than the mere words expressed. COL ElOOO (COL