Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

902 cc = = ” ‘“Do you know or do you not?” “ Mrs. Baldwin-Dexter’s,” said Cynthia with as much emotion as a school child reciting a lesson. ‘‘ And Mrs. Littleton’s.”’ ‘‘ And what’s the longest step you could take?” “To be asked to a small affair at one of their homes,” answered Cynthia mechani- cally. “Or to one of their country estates for a house party?” ‘‘ Mother,” she said, her voice trembling, “are you going to ask that of me?” The weariness of a long effort clouded her eyes; she was not molded for strenuous work; there was none of the stern fiber of her father or mother in Cynthia, apparently. “Don’t you know that they only ask girls they know intimately to their house parties? How can they take up with a woman they don’t know and invite her to live with them even for a day?” Mrs. Rainey’s throat swelled with her triumph so that she could not speak for a moment, and her husband chose that luck- less interval to growl: ‘“‘ Damned nonsense on the face of it, Louise! That ’d mean that one of these gilded light-heads was sponsoring Cynthia; and they haven’t brains enough to see that she’s worth it.” “And that,” said Mrs. Rainey, “is ex- actly what I’ve arranged!”’ She enjoyed her triumph for an instant and then ran to the bed and caught both of Cynthia’s hands. ‘‘Oh, honey,” she said, “ it’s too good to be true!” : ‘Where? Where? Where?” gasped the girl. “ Mrs, Littleton’s country place.” “My God, Louise!” cried William Rainey. ‘ Then you’ve won?” “ William, will you leave us alone for a moment?” And he tiptoed from the room, too over- come to object. Cynthia was rocking back and forth in the bed, her knees hugged close to her breast with both arms, and her eyes on fire. “Mrs. Littleton’s country place!” she whispered. “It’s like a dream! Mother, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. dear, you’re wonderful! it?” Mrs. Rainey composed her face. She had been the infallible power in that house- hold so long that she attempted to take even this triumph calmly. “A little finesse, my dear; a proper use of tools. Do you think I’ve done nothing but twiddle my thumbs all these three months?” “But Mrs. Littleton hardly looked at me last night.” ‘“Never mind how it was done; I used that new young man—Dickon Greene.” ‘““Dickon Greene!” echoed Cynthia. ‘* Mother, who zs he?” “Nobody,” said Mrs. Rainey calmly. “‘ Absolutely nobody. I had Laurette look him up and she had a terrible time getting on his track. Finally located him, and it turns out that he’s been nothing but the teller of a bank!” “But how can he do all these wonderful things? Think of all the people he brought to me last night! Godwin Sanders—”’ “Brains, my dear,” said Cynthia’s mother, ‘‘ will do a great many mysterious things. And he’s got ’em. Cool young devil he is.” ‘“ And people don’t know who he is?” ‘“ People don’t care what young men are, Cynthia, as long as they’re clean—and amusing. He came to me just now to tell me that he’d arranged the invitation to Mrs. Littleton’s.” The eyes of Cynthia widened a little. It was not anger or reproach, but a sort of frightened submission. She laid one slim hand against the base of her throat. ““ Does that mean that he—I—.” she fal- tered. ““It-means nothing,” said Mrs. Rainey with brusque decision, “‘ except that Dickon Greene is hunting a fortune—and that he’ll get one. He’s too clever to fail, I know, but it doesn’t at all mean that he’ll get you, my dear. Dickon Greene? I laugh at the idea! Cynthia, he-is merely the door open- er who lets you into places where you want to go. When we’re done with him we'll forget him!” The brow of the girl puckered with pain. ‘But does he think—” she began. How did you do comicloool C©