Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 4 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

634 accurate rendition of the inspiring tune and words of a selection from Gospel Hymn No, 5: Showers, showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need; Mercy drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead. It seemed very appropriate to Margaret May that the peas should be shelled to the accompaniment of a hymn, for it was Sat- urday night, and the peas were being pre- pared for Sunday dinner. She was in a mood for singing on Saturday nights, for they were traditionally notable nights in her placid life. On Saturday nights and Sundays Margaret May indulged her habit of intruding on the preserves of romance. Saturday nights were times to sing, they were evenings devoted to music, much as the opera nights of more fortunate seekers for romance. Sundays were dedicated to shiny black wigs, fervid worship, and love. Both the eve and the day owed their impor- tance to Irwin Fisher. There was a quality—or rather a com- posite lack of qualities—about Irwin Fisher that made him an eminently proper suitor for Margaret May, and one for whom she need never suffer pangs of jealousy nor fear of loss. Irwin was nearly a total loss with- out insurance. Yet all of his shortcomings were balanced by his long, faithful, and apparently ardent devotion to Margaret May. * For eleven years Irwin had courted Mar- garet May. Such a long period of wooing might have been irksome to any other maid, but Margaret May accepted it gratefully, silently. To be sure, the only times Irwin displayed his affections were on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. He might have donned his love with his black suit on Saturday night and doffed it when he drew on his overalls to resume, his labors as hired man on Monday morning. Persistence is pretty good proof of love, and Irwin’s love had been indubitably proven. So Margaret May hummed and waited on the back porch for exactly the five hundred and seventy-second recurrent Saturday night demonstration of Irwin’s fidelity. Mrs. Rogers came to the back door. THE ARGOSY, ‘Happy, Margaret May?” she inquired. ““¢ Mercy drops round us are falling.’ Yep,” replied Margaret May, neatly com- bining music and conversation. “You may leave the peas now and go to bed,” gently ordered Mrs. Rogers. Margaret May was of the sort that must be told when to do such things as to go to bed. 3 Then her mistress sniffed inquiringly and leaned closer to the tarnished wig. “Mercy me! What on earth have you put on your hair?” she exclaimed. Margaret May removed the wig and left her bald pate to reflect the romantic moon- light. . ‘Hair restorer,” she said. “TI tried some of that new mission oak stain Mr. Rogers got. I thought maybe it might help some, an’, ’sides, it sounded kind 0’ religious. But it don’t seem to work very well.” “You ought to put a coat of shellac on to set the color,” advised Willie Rogers, who had followed his mother to the door. “Now, Willie!” admonished Mrs. Rogers. . She hid a smile and remarked: “It don’t seem to be much of an im- provement.” Discussion of the wig was interrupted by the preliminary toot of a cornet. The brazen notes sounded from the direction of the highway and took form in the melody of “ When You and I Were Young, Mag- gie.” : : Margaret May dropped the dishpan of peas and hurriedly clapped her wig back on her skull, where it reposed somewhat askew, but modestly protecting. “Oh, dear! Again!” sighed Mrs. Rogers. | “Gee! He’s out early to-night!” said Willie. Margaret May inclined her head to listen intently to the B-flat solo. “‘ He’s got a new variation to-night,” she announced. “I told him to play on the way to town an’ not wait till he come home to wake everybody up.” ‘ He better,” growled Willie. ‘‘ I had the old shotgun all loaded with rock salt wait- in’ for him.” JOO (C(O) S (C(O)