The Argosy — page 305: what you’re looking at

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

280 Michael’s Mistake. the train, where a motley group were jostling and peering together. His eyes laughed in the lamp-light as he watched them; looking handsome, and upright, and brave, as he always did. Brave—that was the secret of it. There was a certain fearless, natural grace about this Michael St. Martin, that found out the soft place in most people’s hearts—and went straight there, like a ray of winter sun- shine, or a kind word aptly spoken. For whether is the heart reached easier, by the eyes or by the ears—who cansetell ? Brave—that was the secret 6f it. He was one of the few, the very few, able to carry shoulders back and head erect, and to walk so, without the suspicion of stiffness or a swagger; and to smile the world straight in the face without thought of bravado. If you had seen him as he stood there, his bright eyes and hair, and warm- coloured ulster, marking him out a patch of light against the sombre colouring around him, he might have left a vague impression on your mind of a man whom no obstacle, no trouble, however great, would entirely crush; as if he would battle with anything, keeping his face always to the wind. Or he might have made you think, somehow or other, of a graceful and taut little clipper, now in the trough of the waves, now on their crests; but always gallant, always daring. Brave-looking ; that was the secret of Michael St. Martin’s charm. As he pushed his way in, one of the station officials touched him on the shoulder. ‘Mr. St. Martin, can I get anything out for you, sir? the bell is just going to ring.” ‘Oh, Giles, would you? a big portmanteau with brass on the ends, and a projecting lock ; you can’t mistake it.” — The man hesitated. ‘‘Only one, Mr. Michael?” “Only one, I think, Giles. Why?” ‘‘Because I noticed three in the van like that just a minute ago. They were lying one above the other; I couldn’t help looking at them.” Michael St. Martin opened his eyes. ‘‘ Three ! Nonsense; he never had more than one. Are you sure ?” ‘‘Cuite sure, sir; exactly alike; and together.” ‘* And no address on any of them ?” “No. I think not.” ‘Bless me, three! Yes, I see them, I see them; they must all be his, of course. Get them out, will you, and send them after me.” He turned once again, and walked rapidly between the rows of. trains into the open station, wondering the while where and when Uncle Fabian had picked up these brethren for his odd portmanteau. ‘He must have got them made to order,” he laughed to himself. The bell began to clang, the engine whistled shrilly, sending its steam with a fizz and a wheeze about the feet of the people on the platform ; Michael drew back a little, half stopping in his course to see the long train go, His eyes glanced carelessly at the first Gomicbooks.co m