The Argosy — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

By the Sad Sea Waves. 143 “Perhaps you didn’t,” she interrupts, contradictorily but placidly. “That is what you are going to say, and I daresay it’s true. I did want to come to the sea-side ; and—and as we had to bury ourselves somewhere, this antediluvian place, Sone, was as good as any other. And the sea is always nice, you know: only,”—her big eyes turn wrath- fully seaward—“ there is a little too much of it here, and nothing of anything else! Suoh a caddish set of people could not have collected at any place but Sone.” “As for the people, Ottalie, I had an idea we wanted to avoid society. Besides, Sone is cheap ” $ “* And nasty,” puts in my sister. “Why do ‘you indulge in these words, Ottalier Sone is not bad, though there is no circulating library,” I goon; “nothing fit to eat, and no sleep to be had for the gnats.” I end by making a frantic lunge at one of the enemy—of course I miss him. I always do. Ottalie laughs, “Poor old Deb, you are getting on bravely. Novels, eating and sleeping—sure signs of spinsterhood! Don’t think I say it reproach- fully. I wonder”—clasping her hands fiercely—‘‘ why people ever ? ” “I’m sure I don’t know.” “If aunt Rebecca would only die, and go to heaven,” she goes on meditatively, ‘‘ we should be rich.” “And what if we were rich?” . ‘We could go away ever so far: where nobody would ever see or find us.” “ Afghanistan’s a good place,” I say dryly. - “Yes!” she says, with a short laugh. ‘Only aunt Rebecca won't. Though she is not a bit of use down here—except to sing hymns.” “You ought to be ashamed, Ottalie.” “I’m not,” she says, cheerfully. “ You are always wishing, yourself, that aunt Rebecca was gone somewhere.” I wisely affect not to hear. “Let us‘go over to the inlet,” she adds, jumping up ; “ anything's better than sitting here.” The inlet is a small bay, chiefly remarkable for its calmness, solitude, and gnats. But why it should have been named the inlet, nobody seems to know. ‘Sometimes I think all this must be a dream,” Ottalie says, as we saunter along in the heat. ‘How things have changed! What a contrast it presents to the days when we were with papa, and he was flourishing. This is a wretched life.” ’ Tt is a little better than your life last year, Ottalie.” = She turns away quickly; but presently begins to hum a tune. Wretched I know it is for her; but any reference to. the past \she will comicbooks.com