The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 292: what you’re looking at

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

288 flashed over me that perhaps the main object in drawing me into the scheme was to leave me as a scapegoat, as Wil- kins had done before. He succeeded after a time in open- ing the safe, and then he or I, or some- thing, made a slight noise. I had risen to watch him, and at the proper time I was going to fling myself upon him and kick him out of the building. He saw me, and a spasm of rage passed over his face. He drew a re- volver, and, knowing that he was a des- perate character, and not caring to be found wounded or dead in a bank, I resolved to defend my life, and let the consequences take care of themselves. I fired and he fell, and the bullet from his revolver grazed my shoulder. Then I heard another noise, and knew there was some one else in the bank. As rapidly as I could I slid along by the floor to the entrance, and let myself out in the cool air of the evening. I had shot a man. What should I do? I walked away thinking hard, scarcely knowing what I did, and spent the night on a bench in Battery Park. In the morning I heard cries of the newsboys about the great bank robbery. Shivering, I bought a paper. The item THE ARGOSY. was brief, but it sent my blood cold to my very heart. It was simply a scare headline about the robbery of the Metropolis Bank of two millions in bank notes and some gold. It said nothing about the finding of a wounded or dead man. But it wound up with the statement that a suspicious character, once known as the Napoleon of Iinanece, who had spent two years in Sing Sing for fraud, and whose name was James Merrill, was missing from his boarding-house, ang was suspected by the police of being im- plicated in the robbery. Nota word of Wilson. And how could Wilson—but I remembered the sound I had heard in the bank. I had not saved the treasure for Marjorie, but had placed myself under suspicion of being a robber. I could see it all now. It was Jarvis who had entered the bank. Hearing my shot, he had probably thought of the police, and, after waiting and finding no one, had taken Wilson to the wagon and then robbed the safe at his leisure. ~ But I! What was I to do? My brain whirled and throbbed in agony as I tried to think. (To be continued.) a ee eee THE GOLDEN YEAR. THE year is a casket of costly things, A treasure of priceless worth, A storehouse full for shepherds and kings, Whose gems are the joys of earth. We plunge our hands in the gleaming store, It yields so much, and we ask still more ! Like jewels bright from a necklace shed, The radiant moments have flashed and fled. The year is a palace of fair delights, Where the sun and the moon do reign O’er the nomad nation of days and nights, Who wander by hill and plain. Within the palace’s gate of gold We hear the tale of the seasons told ; Each hour is a word in the endless rhyme Of ploughing, and sowing, and shearing time. Marston Moore. ECOMRiNIEloOO@ SS) Colin