Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

ST 510 ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. roared Peter. “I’m no tenth wonder for you to gape at.” He made another step toward his friend, but Strochini caught open the door and slipped half out into the corridor, while his eyes grew large with real fear. “Come back,” said Peter, with a sense of uneasy apprehension. “ Have I changed, Guido? Have I turned into a searecrow that you run away on the sight of me?” “No, no. You are very well, Peter; but you must be tired. Lie down again, and I will come in.” “Why, I am broad awake,” said Peter, with a frown; ‘“‘ and why should I lie down?” ™ “You are red with excitement again,” said Strochini, “‘ and I shall be blamed for working you up to this humor. I will not come in unless you lie down in the bed again!” ‘““Tf T loved you one whit less,” growled Peter, ‘‘ I would break your sconce for this mummery. Nevertheless, here 1 am in bed again. Now tell me what devil has brought you here to act like this?” “All in good time,” said Strochini, and to the further astonishment of Peter the satirist crossed himself devoutly before he entered the room. “All in good time I shall answer your questions, my dear lad. In the mean time the thing for you is ab- solute quict. Your face is thin. Your eyes are somewhat sunken. You are very ill, Pietro!” ““¥ tell you 1 was never better. I wish there was a glass for me to see how hor- ribly I have changed in twelve hours! But I won’t try to understand you, Guido. You got my message?” In the mean time Strochini had fixed his penetrating eye upon Peter as though he strove to bore into his inmost thoughts. By degrees his strange fears seemed to be slip- ping from his memory. At this question he brightened at once and fell into his usual gay manner as he answered. ““Vour message!” scoffed Strochini. “My dear lad, by the time your message reached me your news was Stale and cold.” “But who told you? I had scarcely reached the castle when—” ““— was at home with a lady, tasting fruit and wine, when in runs a messenger from Beatrice della Marca: ‘ Come as. fast as a fleet’ horse will carry you.’ And I went faster. I reached her panting, but she had less breath than I. She ran to me with a seared look, like a child that’s seen a ghost. ‘Messer Pietro!’ she stammered out twice or thrice. ‘And what the devil of him?’ said I. “He is taken—he is gone mad—and is taken to Sant’ Angelo!’ But the sight of her took me back to: life. She was wringing her hands, and her lips trembled a time or two before she could get out a word. “* Tell met’ she cried out. ‘He has called you his friend. Will you serve him in his need? Tell me how we shall sav him from the Pope?’ : ‘“““ My money, my blood, and my good repute are at his service,’ I said at once. “With that she stammered out a tale how your apprentices had run to a secre- tary in the Vatican with a wild story that you had made of the Venus not a portrait of Beatrice della Marca, but a common singing girl. Sanseverino was in the room and heard the tale, the devil take him. He rushed at once to the Holy Father—you. know the burly churchman loves us not— and gave him the tale. His holiness was sick, and in his grief and anger ordered the confinement of you, and, of course, of the girl likewise if she could be found. “And here she broke off, Pietro, and as Tam a true man she threw herself onto a chair and burst into real téars of real pas- sion. By my heart, she thinks well of you. 1 told her that wine must have done if in you, and not your real self. She grew a little pacified at that, but she went on to talk of a singing girl with red hair who had passed beneath a casement at which she and you stood. You had acted strangely and rushed out of the room. ‘By God, Peter, from the way she talked you will soon be the heir of old Della Marca. When she named the singing girl, a devil came into her eyes, a green devil of jealousy.” He stopped for breath and threw himself into a chair. “How Rome hums with it! How Rome hums with it! The Borgia himself never made a greater stir!” : ig he comicbooks-com