The Argosy — page 306: what you’re looking at

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

Michael’s Mistake. 2&1 carriage, indifferently at the second, mechanically at the third; at the fourth curiously and with a smile, for there a girl’s small golden head leaned far out of the window. At the fifth—what did he do? He started as though a bomb-shell had exploded beside him, stood stock still, made a frantic rush of a few steps and finally came toa dead stand again. There he waved his hat, and his stick, with the despairing ferocity of aman to whom no alternative mode of greeting is open. When it was fairly gone, he made his way hastily out into the darkness, to where the brougham, with its steaming horses, stood waiting for him. He opened the door and threw himself back among the soft cushions. Uncle Fabian!” The little man, eyebrows raised, eyes lowered, bent forward in the © act of setting light to a cigar. * Well, Michael; have you missed my luggage ?” “No, no; they are bringing it out now. Uncle Fabian, do you know Christian Fane?” The dull red light glowed. Fabian Lestréve raised himself thoughfully. | The young man laid his strong brown hand on the little gentle- man’s daintily gloved one. ‘Listen, Uncle Fabian. Christian Fane and I have been chums since our school days. - I’m sure you must remember how often I got letters from him, when you and I were away together, Uncle Fabian? At any rate, I did get them—Indian letters—ever so often. Well, he wrote to me two months ago from Moultan ; and not a word about coming home or anything unusual. Uncle Fabian, your train passed me just this minute on its way out of the station ; I raised my eyes and there at one of the windows, was—Christian Fane.” Uncle Fabian made a movement of incredulity. ‘‘ You must be mistaken, Michael,” said he, as he puffed away at his cigar. “IT tell you, Uncle, it was Christian Fane. Think of my being ten minutes in there with him and not to know it. Think of his coming home in this way without sending word to anybody.” Fabian Lestréve brought his cigar out of his mouth with a flourish. “It was droll, Michael. Perhaps he was dull—eh ?—and just ran away from his dullness; that’s what I do. I wonder you don’t, too, my Michael ; I wonder you don’t die of ennui here at Hillsborough. If you zwz// stay here, why don’t you marry ?”’ The young man laughed drily. : “ Because some fine day I might take it into my head, zof to stay ere.” “Well ; and if you did, you would be married, and “And dull no longer. I should have the remedy without the cause. Don’t speak of marriage to me, Uncle Fabian.” The little thin bronzed face studied him calmly. “Oh, my Michael! After that . ) Gomichboo (E(©) m