Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

HE boss trod heavily as he approached ‘ his office, coughed, sneezed, rattled the handle of the door, and otherwise heralded his coming. He was young and sentient, and he knew that it embarrassed the stenographer to have him catch her powdering her nose. He would almost have preferred losing either of his two clients to embarrassing Maggie. This Monday morning, however, she did not start and act confused, nor try to avoid his eye as she answered his cheery greet- ing. Niether did she hastily shove some- thing into the right-hand drawer of her desk, and look guilty. On the contrary, she wheeled slowly about in her chair and smiled languidly at the boss. Slowly and impressively she laid something upon her desk that glittered as only gold can do. It was the boss’s custom to inquire sym- pathetically as to how Maggie had passed the time from Saturday noon to Monday morning, as soon as he had ascertained that there was, as usual, no mail. ‘ Well,” he began pleasantly, ‘“‘ what hap- pened since I saw you last, Maggie?” ‘A lot of things,” she replied, “‘ among others J nearly got arrested. Can you im- agine that?” He couldn’t—he sank weakly into the chair at his own desk, and gasped out her name: “ Maggie! You?” Maggie nodded emphatically, an expres- sion in her blue eyes which indicated that extraordinary as the statement was if was — true, and that she was in a way enjoying the opportunity of making it. The boss mopped his broad white brow, and insisted upon further details. ‘ But whatever did you do?” ‘““T?”’ inquired Maggie almost haughtily. “Nothing. It was what Jim did.” She passed her hand over her golden coiffure and waited for furfher questioning. “Jim!” the boss repeated, shaking his head. He knew this criminal well by hear- say—had even seen him once, when he called timidly to take Maggie to a matinee one Saturday afternoon. Maggie was not exactly engaged to him—she was what she called “ keeping company ” with him—sort of looking him over to see if he would do, the boss concluded. The results of this pro- cess were of the greatest interest to the boss, for he was by way of ‘‘ keeping company ” himself—only he didn’t call it that. In fact, neither did Maggie—her scorn- ful characterization of the situation was that the boss was making a door-mat of himself for a “ snippy, snappy little thing who ab- solutely failed to understand him.” “Yes, Jim,” she affirmed. ‘ You know, he always says I’m too fond of jewelry. In fact, he thinks I’m too fond of everything— except him. Well, this is how I came to nearly get arrested: Friday was my birth- day—and what does he do but give me a toilet set of purple celluloid. Think of it! When all the time he knew that all I wanted in this world was a gold lawn-yett!” “Terrible! Purple celluloid!” murmured 138 COnmulClOoo Cc SS C@