The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 235: what you’re looking at

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

A STEAM-ROOM FRACAS. “ Wish I could. Where's this Turk- ish bath place? ”’ “Not two blocks away; come along!” Tillinghast pressed the other’s arm firmly and looked at him steadily. Finally persuaded, Keller rose and drifted out of the café, guided by Til- linghast, on whom he leaned inertly. They walked to the Turkish bath and secured two adjoining private rooms. In five minutes’ time Tillinghast, garbed in a huge rough towel, with his room-key attached to a thick rubber- band which he slipped over his wrist, according to the custom of key-carry- ing in a pocketless costume—knocked on Keller’s door and waited a minute until his friend came out, the towel twisted fantastically about him, and a silly smile on his face. Tillinghast noticed the glitter of something more than a room-key on the .rubber-band about Keller’s wrist. He looked away thoughtfully, and holding his companion by the arm, guided him to the elevator, which they entered, barefooted and cautious. Three floors below they left the car and entered the oven-room, where an extremely high temperature was main- tained to force perspiration. It was a quiet hour for the place, and the young fellows had the room entirely to. them- selves. “Ouch!” wailed Keller, as he dropped weakly into one of the steam- er-chairs. “ Burned my wrist!” he ex- claimed, rubbing the spot where his skin has come in contact with the roasting wood of the blanketed chair. On pretense of examining the burn, Tillinghast caught the wrist and held it for a moment. But he did not look at the red spot; his attention was fixed on the thing that glittered beside the key on the thick rubber-band furnished by the management. As he expected, it was the ring Kel- ler had been fooling with at the club, and from Miss Hartworth’s advertise- ment he knew it to be hers. Evidently Keller had feared somebody would steal it, and in his befuddled condition 221 had fastened the ring through his rub- ber wrist-band instead of trusting to the locker in his room, or the clerk’s safe. Tillinghast seated hiniself cautious- ly in a creaking, bone-dry chair next to Keller, threw the blanket over him, and lay back, assisting Keller to wrap up. Both were moist all over. The heat of the room was more than oppressive; it felt heavy, like a blight. “T say,” called Keller, two suffoca- ting minutes later, “ it’s too darned hot for mein here. I’m going.” His voice sounded thin and flat in the heat surcharged atmosphere; his chair creaked and squeaked like a cricket as he lurched forward to rise. But Tillinghast caught his shoulder and pushed him back. “Keller!” he exclaimed, talking louder than his wont, because his voice sounded so strange in the room, “you're getting to be a first-class mol- lycoddle. Can’t you stand anything? Why don’t you get a hold on yourself? You'll be drifting into gout or some- thing if you keep on pampering your body.” Keller struggled to get out of the blistering chair and broke into violent perspiration with the effort. His fear of the heat was so evident that Tilling- hast finally let him up and hurried after him through the door. ‘If you’re too hot,- suppose you take a dip in the tank before we get our steaming—like the clams,” advised Til- linghast. “No!” cried Keller, grabbing the knob to the steam-room. ‘I don’t like water.” “So you don’t like water?” queried Tillinghast a minute later after he had groped his way through the steam- room and had dropped down on a drip- ping cement bench beside the indistinct form of Keller. ‘** No, I hate it,” answered Keller. “Then a Turkish bath’s no place for you—you’d like a desert better.” ““ Oh, the steam-room’s all right, and I like an alcohol rub-down—it’s next CoOMmicbook CO