Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 181: what you’re looking at

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

THE JACKAL’S woman. ‘“ We shall starve; we have nothing if we leave here!”’ “Out with you!” commanded the avenger. ‘‘See that you take the ship to-morrow. To-night you shall walk to the town. Monsieur and madame, the American travelers, shall sleep in peace, and I will keep the inn.” “You have indeed saved us from a ridiculous but a horrible adventure, MIGHTY ROAR. 523 monsieur!”’ said George Eastman, step- ping forward with outstretched hand. ‘“* My wife and I will never be able to ex- press our gratitude. Whom have we the honor—”’ The stranger interrupted him with an elaborate bow of studied grace. ‘The honor is mine, monsieur and madame—to be your humble servant, Victor Berard,” he said. THE FOOL HE Prince sat on his carved throne, And wine from gold he quaffed; The Seer, in drear, dull monotone, Read of his saga-craft ; The Bard stood near, musing alone, Watching the breezes waft The rose-leaves through the window on The Fool, who sang, and laughed: “To you, O Prince, the power of lord— That force almost divine Of right of might and law of sword Arid rule of fear malign, That wait but for your spoken word, Nor need another sign! ‘“ Ah, Seer, you know the meaning cast In word of book or pen, You ken the tale of ages past, Before the time of men— And segregate from first to last Nebulous ‘Why’ and ‘ When.’ “Yours, Bard, the song of youth’s heart-blood, - The lilt of light sunbeams ; The May-time bloom of spring-quicked bud, The soft night-hush of streams; Young Love’s ideal and Passion’s flood, Th’ esotery of dreams! “T am no king, yet rule the door Of Laughter, Song, and Tears; I cannot read, but yet know more— Life’s heart, its hopes, its fears; I rime but lyrics of the lore That strengthens hearts and cheers! L’ENVOI “Prince, when the Last Long Night is Dark, Whom are ye then to rule? And Seer, of what import the spark Of wisdom from the school? You, Bard, how can ye laud the Lark When those hot lips are cool? I trow, when we the Summons hark, I’d rather be the Fool!” Raymond T. Ashley MICLOOOK C©