Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

DOUBLES AND QUITS. Loraine did not hurry. She drank half a cup of lukewarm tea and made a wry face over it. Then she washed and dressed her- self. She was ready to go down finally, but her hands were twitching and she felt altogether queer and shaky. It was not that she dreaded what lay before her. That, in her opinion, was a game. But of course it would be a little difficult, and a pinch or two of the white drug would re- store her completely. For a day or two, perhaps, she would continue to need it, and it was rather lucky she had brought the little box with her instead of burning it, as had half been her intention Jast night. She was feeling quite her debonair self, almost too much so, as she descended the stairs. She had to remember that she was no longer slangy Loraine Drew, of the Au- gustin Theater chorus, but widowed Amy Marshall, who was being pursued by a de- termined lover. She had to remember, too, that the eyes of a lover are very keen. One fact, however, helped tremendously in the case of each girl, quite apart from their uncanny resemblance, and this was that no one coming into contact with either would remotely suspect the idea of such a deception. It might appear that some small change had taken place in voice, gesture, or even in character, but in Loraine’s case there was Amy’s long illness and the sub- sequent ordeal of searching for work which might have brought about alterations. The point was that Peter Tremlett ex- pected to find Amy at Mrs. Kidder’s, and while there might be subtle points of dif- ference between her and Loraine, he would scarcely suspect that another girl had taken her place. Realizing this, Loraine had full confidence in the success of the audacious plan. It would succeed because of its very audacity. She had the sense of humor often pos- sessed by tragic souls, and it was difficult for her not to overact Amy’s gentle shy- ness and manner of timidity. In the hands of a mimic it tended to become a trifle mincing. “ Yes—me,” Tremlett replied grimly to her cry of surprise. ‘‘ You weren’t expect- ing me, I take it.” ‘“‘N-no, I wasn’t,” Loraine faltered. If 99 she had had any doubt before that this tall, sardonic man was the Peter Tremlett of Amy’s description it vanished. . “Come in here; I want to talk to you,” he said. ‘ She followed him meekly with bowed shoulders and a handkerchief pressed to her lips. There was not the defiance he had expected, and this had the effect of rousing the bully in him. “So you ran away! Do you think you have had enough of it?” he demanded when they were alone together in the little parlor and he had closed the door. ‘“Tve had a very hard time,” she ac- knowledged. “Well? Are you ready to come back to Witcham with me?” ““I—I couldn’t. People would talk so.” What do you mean?” “IT don’t know.” She gave a wonderful show of weeping. In an instant Tremlett swept her into his arms. “T’d follow you to the ends of the earth!” he exclaimed in a voice that would have terrified the real Amy. There was a veritable ring of doom in it. “I told you so in Witcham. Don’t think you’re clever enough or strong enough to get away from me again. And you'll be happy after we’re married. I know more about women than you’d guess. Amy, you’ve got to marry me, and I won’t wait either. Afer this, I won't wait at all.” ‘You mean a special license—marry you here, in London?” Loraine whimpered. He hadn’t meant that. His whole life was so bounded by Witcham that it had never occurred to him to have the ceremony performed elsewhere. ‘““Why—why, if you got the license to- day, you could marry me here in London to-morrow,” she wailed. “ Exactly,”” Tremlett said without a sec- ond’s hesitation. He was almost out of his mind with the joy of conquering*her. ““T suppose you’re penniless,” he added with a grim chuckle. I’ve got just sevenpence, and I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday noon,” she replied. comicloool C©