Argosy All-Story Weekly — 'The Metal Monster' — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

THE CHAIN OF so? I want to try over this part.” Then | the sound of castors grating on the uncov- ered floor and Maurice sat down at the piano while Claire listened with the foolish, doting expression of a mother and a sweet- heart in one. M. Fragonard knocked smartly, then re- membered that he had no tray as an ex- cuse. No* matter—they had not heard him. He clattered down the stairs, mak- ing all the noise he possibly could. He returned at one o’clock with their lunch. His footsteps lagged upon the face of tragedy. stairs. He entered without knocking. He saw the two heads together, silhouetted against the window as they sat close to- gether on the divan, Maurice humming and beating time as he illustrated the turn of a -passage. “We must get some one to try it ‘while we dance,” Claire was saying as he en- tered. She looked up with a smile. “ Papa dear, couldn’t you just run through this for us so that Maurice and I can try our dance with the music?” she asked. _ Papa Fragonard grinned. At last they had reached the point of needing. another person! | _ “T couldn’t possibly. It is contrary to the rules of the contract,” he said. “Oh, well, never mind,” replied Claire. “We can do very well without the piano. Maurice whistles so beautifully.” That afternoon after lunch, as they sat resting and looking idly about, Claire re- | marked: ‘‘ There is just one thing about confinement in this room that is getting on my nerves.”’ ‘“‘ My darling!”’. gasped Maurice with the “ What is it?” Claire was frowning at the opposite wall. “That color,” she said; ‘‘ that horrid saf- fron paint. We must have it repainted.” “Why not do it ourselves?” suggested Maurice. ‘I saw a lot of cans of paint in that closet. We can at least try the color. You always have to mix the color yourself. Painters are such fools.” _ They rose with one accord, quite uncon- scious of the chain, and went to investigate the cans of paint. When Papa Fragonard came with their dinner he found them on CIRCUMSTANCE. 63 twin step-ladders, side by side a short dis- tance apart, painting the walls of the studio a cool, restful gray. Claire had a smudge of paint on her forehead, and Maurice’s classic nose had a Pierrotlike dash of white across it. They looked heated and a little tired, but radiant. Then did the pent-up temperament of M. Fragonard find vent. He flung the tray of food upon the floor with a frightful crash of dishes. The early strawberries, surreptitiously supplied by Marie, streamed! across the floor and Mr. Fragonard set his foot upon them. see how much they resembled blood when crushed. “Oh, poor, poor papa! ” cried Claire, and descended the ladder with the swiftest sympathy: Her Siamese twin followed her. After a pitying glance at the convulsed form of M. Fragonard, they both stooped and tried to collect the fragments of broken crockery and dinner. | A stream of incoherent words from the lips of their jailer gave them the impres- sion that Papa Fragonard was not happy. They rose again with one accord and looked upon him pityingly. ‘What is it, papa darling? Surely you don’t mind because we have painted the walls. The color was frightful.” No, it was. not the walls that afflicted Papa Fragonard. “These artists—they are fools, they are madmen—they do not know when their food is vile! They know neither time nor seasons.” Maurice’s attention wandered to the wall. “I can finish it alone this aiter- noon,”’ he said to Claire in an undertone. “You must rest.” M. Fragonard’s logic, never very firmly foundationed, now gave way entirelY under the strain. ‘“ You do zot finish this after- noon, you do ot!” he screamed, shaking his fist at the astonished youth of genius. “For your time it is up—more than six hours beyond your appointed time have you stayed here, stupid captives! But now I harbor you no longer! You go, go, co; do you hear? Out into the night, alone.” ‘* But it is not dark,” said Maurice, who had a streak of literalness in his mental It was a satisfaction to: COMIC OOO UN S (CO