Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

436 you? I’ve got to dress up to Mil. Gosh, you oughta see the glad rags she’s got in her trunk.” Walter Leeds leaned confidentially over the counter of H. Anderson’s haberdashery store and wiped his perspiring brow with a fifty-cent handkerchief sporting. an elegant pale-green border and a huge green L in one corner. ‘““T saw her last night talkin’ to Steve Farrel out at her gate,” grinned Ander- son, folding up one sky-blue tie and one salmon one. ‘ She was some little looker then, believe me. Had on a kind of white and red thing pretty near as short as a bathing suit. I noticed it more because Steve had on that old suit he wears to the works, all over paint.” “Yep, she’s a looker.” Mr. Leeds stared absent-mindedly at a box of purple- bordered handkerchiefs marked six for thirty-five cents. ‘‘ But she’s got no time for Steve, not the way he looks. Funny he don’t seem to care, good-lookin’ boy like him, too. Buta paint joint’s no place to be a gentleman in, Harry. He ought ’ave gone into the seed business; maybe it: don’t pay refined!” Miss Mildred Race came out to the porch that evening when Mr, Leeds called, in a pink sport suit, made extremely short and extremely full, and while the neck was cut very low in a V, the sleeves came al- most over the little hands. Her blond hair, brought down over her ears, lay flat to her small head and was built out in a thick knot midway between her neck and the top of her head. She sat down on the step beside her caller and for once made no remark about his new flannels or his shirt, which always challenged attention, whether of the ad- miring variety or otherwise. Her manner was graver than usual and her eyes rather wide and wistful. ‘Gee, I'll miss you, Mil, when you go back Monday,” Mr. Leeds sighed pres- ently and lifted one freshly blancoed shoe to the step beside her, meanwhile resting his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his so emuch, but, gosh—it’s THE ARGOSY. palm as he had seen Francis Bushman posed dozens of times. ‘‘ This town’s slow enough anyhow without a fellow’s havin’ a special reason for thinkin’ it is.” ‘Oh, I don’t know, it’s not so bad.” She drew a long breath and moved the hand he was groping for. ‘Say, Walt, Steve was tellin’ me his mother’s sick.” “Yep, got rheumatism; can’t get out of bed. Stevé’s got housekeepin’ down fine, they say.” “But who—cooks for him, them— when he’s so busy? Where’s little sister?” “Old Julia, our washwoman, cooks for them when they can get her. I guess Steve manages; he don’t fuss around much with girls or anything. Little sister Lola is—well, I guess that kid is worryin’ Steve a lot just now. She’s been goin’ around with some fat drummer and they say he’s got a wife. Steve’s dead crazy about Lola, too.” Mildred did not reply, and presently Walt moved again restlessly. “You didn’t say whether you liked this shirt or not,” he ventured. “ Ain’t the socks a dandy match?” ‘“ Fine.” “ Have any of your city beaux got any- thing on me when it comes to dressin’, Mil?” “Not a thing, Walt. like—some of them.” “Gosh, New York must pay good sal- aries,’ he muttered ruefully, thinking of his debt to Harry Anderson. And what would he do with all the truck when Mildred was gone? It was a darned nuisance dressing up every day, and as for matching shirts and ties and hose and handkerchiefs—good-night! “We'll all go out to the White City Saturday, Mil,” he said then, nettled at her unusual abstraction. ‘The bunch will go—want to?” ‘ Sure—anything, Walt.” IV. ‘Mit and Steve are gettin’ thick, Walt,” Anderson teased some days later when Leeds dropped in at the store after You look just CO DOOK AMUC C©