Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

FOR MAGGIE’S SAKE, “Tf indeed the end amounts to any- thing,” Zizi thought, a little ruefully. Once started on her journey, it seemed like a wilder goose chase than it had at first appeared. The route, a little, ill-appointed New England railroad, took her inland into the State of Maine, and then westward, until she was in the green hills and valleys of Vermont. It was when the conductor sung out “‘ Greenvale ” that Zizi, her journey ended, alighted from the train. She found a rickety old conveyance known as a buckboard, and asked the in- different driver thereof if she might be con- veyed to any inn or hostelry that Green- vale might boast. Still taciturn, the lanky youth that held the horse told her to “get in.” Zizi got in, and was transported to a small inn that was not half so bad as she had feared. She paid her charioteer, and as he set her 183 bag down for her on the porch, she went into the first room, which seemed to be the office. “Can I have a room for a day or two?” she asked. “Sure,” said the affable clerk, looking at her with undisguised admiration. Zizi smiled at him, quite completing his subjugation, for she wished to be friendly in order to get all the help she could on her mission. “ Greenvale is a lovely place. How large is it?” she asked. ‘“*’Most three thousand,” said the clerk proudly. ‘‘ Gained a lot of late.” “Do you have many visitors in the sum- mer?” “Lots; and we’ve got a noted one here right now.” <4 Who?” ‘“* Nobody less than—why, here he comes now.” Zizi looked toward the door. Just entering she saw—Pennington Wise! (To be concluded NEXT WEEK.) Gailard Backman N spite of her name, Maggie Bills was not altogether hard to look at. No one knew very much about her, except that the little mountain village of Pine had pulled itself out of bed late one Sunday morning in July to find itself in possession of a rather cityfied young lady. Since that first Sunday morning that same young lady had been persistently fixing herself as an mtegral part of the village life. Just how she managed to conceal all matters re- lating to her origin, past history, and future intentions from the artful inquisi- tiveness of the village gossips was rather disconcerting to their sense of curiosity, to say the least. comicloool C© inn