Argosy All-Story Weekly — 'The Metal Monster' — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

| 62 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. High on a pile of miscellany sat Claire in a brooding attitude, her chm upon her hand, her chain dropping from her wrist. A scant ten feet away sat Maurice before his easel intently sketching. M. Fragon- ard thumped on the door. He had to - thump twice before Claire, without chang- ing her pose, said softly:. '“T think papa is knocking, darling.” Then Maurice rose, still abstractedly star- ing, and started toward the door. The chain pulled taut. He paused, evidently waiting for her to descend. ~ “Tf you are not ready to have me rest, just tell him to go away,” tMe enraged fos- ter-parent heard Claire say. “No, indeed, you have been posing too long as it is. You must be tired,” replied Maurice tenderly. ‘So come with me, my Andromeda.” | : M. Fragonard thrust the tray mte Mau- rice’s hands and stared angrily at the struc- ture in the middle #f the room. ‘ What on .earth have you been doing with the furni- ture!” he exclaimed. “ That—oh, that is Andromeda’s rock,” explained Claire merniy. ‘ Don’t you want to see. Maurice’s sketch? It’s a peach!. But no—lI forgot. We were to have no communication with any one. Run away, papa darling. You won’t mind waiting until to-morrow.” Papa darling went. He was Wot in good humor. There was only one-more day— what if the young lunatics— During the whole afternoon the silence reigned. Evidently that inspired young idiot, Maurice, had been working on his daub all day. | When their jailer came to take away the dinner tray no one opened the door at his knock. Instead, CTaire’s voice, lazily sweet, called to him to “ Come in.” He came. A scene of Burne-Joneslike languor ereeted him. Claire reclining in a decora- tive position on the divan. Maurice beside her on a cushion on the floor, his head against her knees, while the smoke of a Cigarette of pleasant odor enveloped them in a dreamy haze. M. Fragonard swore softly and bolted from the room without the tray. To-morrow noon the thirty-six hours would be up. Could it be that his experi- ment was going to fail after-dil? The con- spirator against youth ground his teeth in impotent rage. The next morning he heard cheering sounds of altercation as he tiptoed up the Stairs. At Jast the long-hoped-for quarrel! He entered with the breakfast tray, smiling for the first time since the blow had fallen. Maurice turned a flushed face upon him. ““You are her father—practically her father,’ he said, “ perhaps you can reason with her.” " M. Fragonard smiled and twirled his mustache. Of course his psychology of sex could not fail! %t was working now— just as he had planned. ‘No, darling, I cannot let you do it,” he heard Maurice saying. “ But yes, Maurice, you. mzst finish it while you are in the mood—”’ : ‘“T am not in the mood. I want to write down that cham dance before I forget it.” ‘You can do that after tunch—you are just being unselfish.’’ Claire turned to her adopted parent. ‘-Papa darling, tell Mau- rice that I am really strong as an ox, and that posing can’t possibly tire me.” So that was what the quarrel was about! M. Fragonard frowned at the floor. Well, he might at teast contrive to foment a little discord. “You will find Claire very headstrong and stubborn,” he said. “If she once makes up her mind to a thing it is useless to argue with her.” — ‘Oh, papa,” cried Claire repreachfully. ‘She is not stubborn, she is an angel,” declared Maurice. Papa Fragonard hurried down the Stairs. _ They both had their way, it seemed. The early part of the morning Claire posed while Maurice finished his sketch. At eleven o’clock the watcher at the crack saw the two side by Side washing paint brushes and putting them away in a tall pottery jar. Then Claire, obeying Maurice’s insis- tent myunction to rest, lay down on the divan while her bridegroom sat beside her and wrote concentratedly upon a sheet of music paper. | After a time he rose. ‘‘ May I move the divan a little nearer to the piano, dearest— ecomiclooolkks (CO