The Argosy — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

Roger Bevere. 35 more safe there than in Mrs. Long’s rooms: and I might have been hunting for him yet, for aught I can tell, but for coming across Charley Lightfoot. It was on the following Monday. He was turning out of the rail- way station near Miss Deveen’s; his uncle, Dr. Lightfoot, being in practice close by. Telling him of Roger Bevere’s flight, which he appeared not to have heard of, I asked if he could form any idea where he was likely to have got to. “Oh, back to the old neighbourhood that ‘he lived in before his accident, most likely,” carelessly surmised Lightfoot, who did not seem to think much of the matter. ‘* And where is that?” ‘A goodish distance from here. It is near the Bell-and-Clapper station on the underground line.” ) ‘The Bell-and-Clapper station ! ” Lightfoot laughed. ‘‘ Ironically called so,” he said, ‘‘ from a bell at the new church close by, that’s clapping away pretty well all day and all night in the public’s ears.” “ Not one of our churches P” “ Calls itself so, I believe. I’d not answer for it that its clergy have been licensed by abishop. SBevere lived somewhere about there ; I never was at his place; but you'll easily find it out.” “How? By knocking at people’s doors and enquiring for him?” Lightfoot put on his considering-cap. ‘‘ If you go to the refresh- ment-room of the Bell-and-Clapper station and ask his address of the girls there,” said he, ‘‘I daresay they can give it you. Bevere used to be uncommonly fond of frequenting their company, I believe.” Running down to the train at once I took a ticket for the Bell-and- Clapper station, and soon reached it. It was well named: the bell was clanging away with a loud and furious tongue, enough to drive a sick man mad. What a dreadful infliction for the houses near it ! Behind the counter in the refreshment-room stood two damsels, exchanging amenities with a young man who sat smoking a cigar, his legs stretched out at ease. Before I had time to speak, the sound of an up-train was heard; he drank up the contents of a glass that stood at his elbow, and went swiftly out. It was a’ pretty looking place: with coloured decanters on its shelves and an array of sparkling glass. The young women wore neat black gowns, and might have looked neat enough altogether but for their monstrous heads of hair. ‘That of one‘’in particular was a sight to be seen, and must have been copied from some extravagant fashion plate. She was dark and handsome, with a high colour and a loud voice, evidently a strong-minded young woman, perfectly able to take care of herself. The other girl was fair, smaller and slighter, with a somewhat delicate face, and a quiet manner. “Can you give me the address of Mr. Roger Bevere?” I asked of this younger one. Gomilchboo <S (E() am