Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

20 “ The bigger fool you. You see, I own the stock now—” “Well?” ‘““And not only that, nearly all the other shares. In fact, Leon, I own Comrades.” Minsch’s dull brain tried desperately to keep abreast of this astounding informa- tion; to fathom its significance. Zenia went on evenly. “T own Comrades. It is my paper— and a good property. I was the one who ‘made it pay. I deserve to own it. The old control were a bunch of visionaries, Leon—visionaries like yourself—”’ ‘Like me, you say!” “Like you. Thee all gone now—all gone, but you—”’ | “All gone but you and me, Zenia.” Minsch smiled fatuously. “H-m! Yes. You’ve been called busi- ness manager of this property a long time, Leon—” ‘Since it started—”’ “Ves, since it started. And never from the day Comrades began business have you been worth one pinch of salt—not one pinch—” “Eh? What’s this you say—’”’ “IT merely said you were no use here. _No use to the paper. No use at all. You're a loafer, Leon Minsch. You always will be. No good. I accept your resignation.”’ “ What—what damned nonsense is this?” Minsch sputtered. “‘ What new idiocy now? ‘I don’t resign. Nonsense! Why—why this paper—Zenia, it is my living. I—lI depend on that money—” “Exactly,” Zenia agreed, unruffled. “But to-day I own this paper. And [I in- tend to make it a good business—a business that will pay me—and earn money and progress for the cause.” Zenia added the last with a perfunctory sanctity. ‘‘ And you, Leon, are no longer of use to Com- rades. SoI dismiss you. You are dropped —fired. Good-by—” “But, Zenia! What shall I do? can I do? What can we do?” ‘“‘ That reminds me, Leon. Another thing, To-day I moved my things from the flat. Our ways separate—” : “What! Then you—leave me? Zenia!”’ “T do leave you. Good-by, Leon.” What THE ARGOSY. Big, whiskered Leon Minsch must have loved Zenia Kauffmann. There seems proof of that in the fact that, held by no legal or moral bond, for six years, without the slightest effort on her part, he had remained true to her. When he fully grasped the import of what she had told him so calmly he took the blow like a man. He rose slowly and stood looking down on her while Zenia con- tinued to tap the desk and gaze out of the dirty basement window, set against the ceil- ing. Finally Leon touched her black hair with his thick fingers, gently, regretfully and murmured her name. With that he turned and went from the office of Com- rades for the last time. And that was how Zenia began her days of money-making. She saw an opportunity and she moved to seize it, selecting the shortest possible method of approach. And truly this was a land of opportunity in those good-natured, easy-going days not so long ago—opportunity for honest man and crook alike. A soap-box orator, defiling the flag, was something to smile at; an anarchist, a preposterous person with a lighted. bomb, concealed behind a hair mattress of Russian whisker. It was the ideal land for Zenia Kauffmann—and Zenia knew it. IV. Ir was about 1912 that reporters defi- nitely stopped referring to Zenia as “a beautiful Nihilist.” Seeing her in the late summer of 1917 talking to Harry Veeder in the office of Comrades one would have wondered how she ever had earned that title. Physically Zenia had grown much stout- er with her gradual withdrawal from all forms of active and risky work for the - cause. She dressed in sober, black silk—a rather fat, commonplace little woman who wore thick glasses and carried a net reticule bulging with manuscripts. She had caused—and was causing—a vast amount of lawlessness that varied in degree from the stoning of policemen to cold-blooded murder of public servants, but her participation in these events was not of the sort that can be proved jn a court of law. comiclboool C©