Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

496 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Bert leaped to his feet. ‘What do you mean?” he cried. ‘ Sup- posing Turner knows—”’ “ Bert,” Fred cut in, speaking with the horse and buggy were still standing is front of the office, and, with no particular purpose, he drove out to the Majestic Hotel. In the silent, moon-blanched clearing, his! slow reluctance of a man who must hurt a dear friend, “I just learned that Turner got his franchise, and he’s going to build the power-house on his land next to the Majes- tic !”’ CHAPTER XVII. THE INDICTMENT. T was a cruel, bitter blow to Bert, all the more stunning because it was so un- expected. His confidence had been so sure, so undoubting, so supreme, that now | the shattering of all his fond hopes staggered him and filled himi with numbing despair. The brighter anc sunnier the summer sky, the more tenedrous appears the cloud that suddenly banks to overcast it; and to Bert, this clouc that so impenetrably darkened the brightness o: his visualized future was thc symbol of his ignominous defeat at the hands of Ellis Turner. Against this crushing move of Turner’s he was powerless to fight. With a hum- ming, droning power-house next to the Ma- jestic, tainting the restful stillness with its incessant, monotonous voice, the very foun- dation upon which he had constructed his plans was blasted to crumbling mortar. There was no way of getting around tkat. “‘Turner’s victory was complete, overwhelm- ing. The descriptive booklets, which now need never to be mailed, were stacked away in the basement of The Punch office. Bert wanted to destroy them; but Fred, like the mother who treasures still the little garments of a departed Child, would carry them carefully down-stairs to save them only for a dust-gathering oblivion. Not heeding the supper-hour, the young men stayed on in the little office that had suddenly become so gloomy, speaking sel- dom, and then in low voices, as if they were in a chamber of death. There was no spirit left to either of them. They were beaten, and they knew it. , e At eight thirty Bert took his leave. His hotel stood, dead-white, its darkened win- - dows staring forth like the glassy, sightless eyes of the blind. Beyond it, caught like’ a kite in the tree-tops, swam the full moon, a rain-portending ring of mist encircling it; —a luminous gyroscope hanging in the- dark, star-studded tract of the heavens. He drove up to the porte-cochere and, & mounting to the loggia, let himself in with 3% his key. Inside, with his flashlight slicing & a long white cone from the darkness, the mm base of it dancing about the walls, he found Gi out a wall-switch and pressed it. The room & sprang into sudden dazzling light, the very @%@ brilliancy of it and of the great hall it dis closed wounding him with another pang of a SOrrow. There, at the far end of the room, was the office, the long desk glistening—as did every other bit of woodwork—with fresh varnish. There, opposite the entrance door | was the great stone fireplace, with a semicir- cle of armchairs facing it. That very morn- ing, when he had stood there, his hopeful @ eyes had seen this great hall peopled with his contented guests, standing at that desk 2 to get their keys and mail, reclining in that semicircle of chairs to stare dreamily ito ’ a dancing, cracking log-fire. But now, with * his eyes cleared to reality, he saw it all just as it was—empty, cold, repellent. _ Aimlessly, he walked from reom to room on the lower floor, switching on the lights as he entered, clicking them out as he left —a forlorn figure of a man, trying thus to gain a mite of consolation by a glimpse of work accomplished, and only adding to his already brimming cup of sorrow by the sight of such futile achievement. As he passed a long wall-mirror, he caught sight of his reflection in it, and it gave him pause. Was he the man they spoke of as Bing, Bang, Boom? Was that drooping, spiritless man before him an im- age of the one who fought hardest when he was beaten? Who would not defeat as long as a spark of life burned within him? He stared, with feelings akin to horror, connie a, YN S (CO