The Argosy, April 1916 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

A MYSTERY OF ROSCOE CONKLING PARK. carving his name in a beam. And there it was now, cut deep, in awkward letters: “KENNETH YALE.” He was in his own house, and in the room he had known as a boy. Whose kind hands had ministered to his wants? Through a dormer window the morning sun streamed in upon his coverlet! After a time the door of the room slowly opened and a man entered and walked with noiseless tread to the bedside. “You iss pedder?” asked a pleasant voice. “T am better, I suppose,” answered Yale. “YT see I am in old Latimer Yale’s house.” “Olt mans, he iss det. Young Mr. Yale, he own diss ‘house now.” “TI knew it when I fell. was that?” “You iss here two days.” Yale shut his eyes and thought bitterly. It was not so much his own fate as the possibilities of Beverly’s. His anxiety for her so filled his mind that he never thought of informing his attendant that he was Kenneth Yale. Yet the fellow was a puzzle. “Do you live here?” asked Yale. “No, I lif along crik.” “Did you see me fall, and bring me here?” , “No, I gome later. She dell you all apoud id. So. You lige some kruel?”’ ‘““Gruel? I feel more like tackling a bar- becue. Haven’t I eaten anything?” “Nod mudge.’’. ‘““What was the matter with my eyes?” ‘“‘Nodings. Pud we nod know id. She— she do vat she dink pesd.”’ The stranger was so hesitating with his answers that Yale knew he was holding back some sort of information, perhaps under orders. “Who bandaged my foot?” he asked. “Foot? Oh, dass iss all righd.” ‘Are you a German? You don’t look ex- actly like a German. Swede? Dane? Nor- wegian?”’ “No, I vas American. Dass all righd.” Yale looked at him and smiled. He was a splendid specimen of manhood, young, healthy, blond. “TI ged you some kruel.” The man backed away, went out at the How long ago door and, to Yale’s surprise, locked it. The bolt made a rasping noise as though it had not been used in years. Yale closed his eyes and gave himself up ¥ 39 to speculation. He was a prisoner in his own house, and his jailer was a man of foreign birth who did not live in the house. Yet the house must be occupied, for he dis- tinctly recalled seeing smoke rising from the chimney just before he fell. Still he knew the place had no tenant who was paying rent. The conundrum concerning the peculiari- ties of his situation occupied Yale’s mind several minutes. The man did not return with the gruel. Yale tried to rise. He could sit up without much difficulty, and with very little pain. He swung his feet off the bed and tried to stand. His left foot supported his weight, ‘but an excruciating pain shotethrough the right one. He fell back upon the bed and covered himself with the blanket and a white coverlet. He heard some one at the door, the sound of a key being fitted in the lock, then the shooting back of the ancient bolt. The door opened, and Yale uttered a cry of amazement. His dream was at least partly true. A beautiful girl with rich red lips and violet eyes and a somewhat paler face than usual entered with a steaming bowl. “Beverly!” he cried, in his joy. “Guardy, how do you feel? I’ve brought you something to make you strong. I'll hold it while you eat.” She sat on the edge of the bed with the hot bowl in her hands, and a towel to pre- vent the heat from scorching | her tender skin. He almost choked. “How long have you been here?” he asked. “Why,” she replied demurely, giving him one of those thrilling glances from her violet eyes, “I was here—when you came home.” CHAPTER XX. HOW BEVERLY CAME HOME, ALE’S hand shook awkwardly as he made several ineffectual attempts to convey the spoon filled with gruel to his mouth, and in his nervousness let some fall on the coverlet. “Poor boy!” she said, with a smile and look of compassion that thrilled him, ‘Poor Guardy! He is so weak! Let me feed you. I love to feed children.” cComiclool C@