Argosy: The Short Story Magazine — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

AIR ON A G-STRING 97 burlycue,”’ explained Mrs. St. Clare, crawling beneath a flowering peach tree in the corner to dig out an extra vase. ‘‘ Sit down, kids,”’ said Pansy. “‘ Rest yourselves.” Mrs. St. Clare was a gracious hostess. ‘‘ I put you down as a Capricorn, Mr. Chiddy,” she said. “‘ 'They’re so powerful.” “ Right,” said Homer. ‘My little girl has told me how wunnerful you are to her. She’s an artist to her toe-nails and she senses everything.”’ “ Right,” said Homer. ‘‘ She’s got a great future with me to guide her,” said Mrs. St. Clare, never taking her eyes off Pansy. ‘““ Gee, Mom,” said Pansy, squirming at the prophecy. ‘“T started her stripping the year after her voice had changed,” explained Mrs. St. Clare, ‘and now she’s gotta u-nique act. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” “ Right,” said Homer. ‘“T’m giving her some gorgeous, expensive white doves for her act,”’ continued Mrs. St. Clare. Then a bitter note entered her voice as she added, ‘‘ But I’m afraid she’ll want to cook ’em.”’ “Gee, Mom,” cried Pansy, “ just ’cause I wanna stove.” “Tt ain’t that I don’t trust ya, Pansy,’ said her mother kindly. *“T jus’ got no confidence in ya.”’ The afternoon flew by. Finally Pansy said, “ Tell the kids some dirty stories, Mom, while I fix the sandwiches.” Mom obliged. ‘The sandwiches were delicious. Pansy had made them in the bathroom, for she had no kitchen. As we started to leave, Mrs. St. Clare said, “‘ You folks know the way now. ‘The key’s always under the mat.” ‘“ Right,” said Homer. “Take good care of my little girl, Mr. Chiddy,” Mrs. St. Clare yelled after us. ‘‘ And be sure to make the orchestra take plenty of time for her tease.” Pansy and Homer and I started walking to the subway. In an empty store window was an announcement of a coming attraction. The local branch of the Eastern Star was holding a bazaar and a box supper. Prizes would be awarded for the most handsome apple pies. ‘‘ My stove!” cried Pansy, stopping suddenly and pointing to the display. ‘“‘ Lookit that gorgeous stove they’re giving away.” “It’s got only one oven, Pansy honey,” I said, hoping to lighten her loss, but I had to admit to myself that the stove was nearly perfect. Pinned to the oven door, a blue ribbon garnished with pearls proclaimed it to be the first prize and showed what could be won if a girl put her mind to it. “‘ Gee,” said Pansy, and her throaty voice quivered, “ thinka comiclbooks.conn