The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 245: what you’re looking at

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

THE LETTER HE DIDN’T WANT. the first night after his arrival in Ozora. Lazily, Jimmy stretched out his six- foot form and lighted a cigarette dur- ing a lull in his battle with the mos- quitoes, utterly oblivious of the roman- tic spell a full and glorious moon cast over the little white-walled, réd-roofed town. From near-by balconies he could catch glimpses of filmy draperies, and now and then the flash of a pair of dark eyes impressed itself upon his vision. Somewhere the low, plaintive notes of a guitar feebly vied with the inusic of the band, and Jimmy heard a caballero singing softly and passion- ately in a tenor voice that would have commanded a three-figured salary on Broadway. “Tf I’d only been here last week!” Jimmy muttered, with sad recollections of his sojourn at Atlantic City in com- pany with the recently acquired Mrs. Morton. “Ideal sort of place for a wedding trip, only it makes me think of a comic opera. But to be here— now—alone!”’ He refrained from further thought on the subject and ground hts cigarette beneath his heel in disgust. The band played a catchy Spanish dance, and Jimmy, unable to content himself longer, arose and strolled off in no particular direction. Hts thoughts were in East Orange, in a small seven- room cottage, although he should have been thinking that he had come to Ozora to arrange with the newly 1in- stalled government for the sole rights to import pocket lighters into the country. Now he passed out of the square and through a narrow, ill-lighted street. He swore at the bad paving, but passed on into another, and then into a third street. Ina few moments he was pass- ing a high white wall, over the top of which the branches of great palm- trees spread shadowy in the moonlight. Somewhere close at hand he heard the sound of another guitar, and this time the singer was a woman. 231 Looking up, he beheld a little bal- cony with a lattice-work, through which a dim light showed faintly. There was a shadow before it, and Jimmy saw the figure of a woman dressed all in black, save for a gauzy silvered mantilla and a red rose in her dark hair. Jimmy saw her smile slightly, and it seemed as though she threw him a kiss. Determinedly he turned away and walked more quickly—his thoughts re- turning to the little East Orange cot- tage. But just at that moment something soft struck his cheek, and he paused, startled, as a rose fell at his feet. He glanced upward, and caught the flash of the whitest’of white teeth through the reddest of red lips, all the property of the lady whose exceedingly pretty face was now quite clear as she leaned out over the balcony edge. A feeling of outraged dignity seized Jimmy. He scowled at the young woman, and with a gesture of impa- tience stamped upon the rose just as he had treated the unhappy cigarette that offended him a short time before. Then, without looking upward-or rear- ward, Jimmy hastened back to the Hotel d’Inglaterre, drank a brandy- and-soda, and took himself indignantly to his room. In a pair of silk pajamas he sat on the edge of the bed and wrote another letter to Mrs. Jimmy Morton. After that, for some minutes, he conversed with, or rather at, the large photograph of that lady which adorned his bureau, finally putting out the light and going to bed. Arising early, he breakfasted on the little portico overlooking the plaza, meanwhile making inquiries as to where he might find the various officials he had come to see. Jimmy was a hustler, but probably any man so situated would have hustled with the thought that he might return to East Orange as soon as he had completed his arrangements concerning the introduction of pocket lighters into Ozora. So, armed with proper directions, hé oO COMmMiclhoo S CO