Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

390 and claimed atterition at the foot of the stairs. Its name was Falwell. Arthur Fal- well, or to be more familiar and nomencla- tively descriptive: Artie Falwell. He was opportunity, so—we at once think we know what is going to follow; but we don’t, for we cannot forestall the future until we can read the past, and that is gome; gone far beyond our reach into the limbo where things that happened yesterday look so dif- ferent to-day. ° In some degree, Julie Somers, her m#se en scene, her lay-out, as it were, have been accounted for. She has come, more or less slowly, it is true, unerringly to the appoint- ed place; but, Artie? Where does he spring from? We shall find this out presently, and why he deliberately stepped in front of Julie and raised his jaunty, gray Fedora. _Also jt may be discoverable why he was the chosen one selected by the gods of cause and effect to fitness of Julie’s mood. Why he was to lead this girl from Fourteenth Street to a land where. an orange-red bird warbles a song that causes a listener to pause and wait—for the end that never comes. Always is the finishing note left— unsung. The bow that accompanied Artie’s salute served two purpeses: Julie was detained sufficiently long to have her attention fully awakened. She observed the smooth sleek- ness of the stranger’s dark hair, the nifty cut of his clothes, the rings he wore, the diamond-and-pearl ‘stickpin that nestled in the folds of his silk scarf, the gold and plat- inum chain looped and swaying gently across his vest. Here was quality, elegance, and the nonchalant: ease portrayed by the smart and dapper young men who self-con- sciously lounged across the ad pages testi- fying to the positive necessity that all “ comers ” should be attired in Mumm and Mumm’s clothes. The other purpose served, was the more important one: Artie had a good chance to say his little piece relative to. ‘‘ Haven’t I met you before, Miss Smith?” and conclusively break the icy reserve that 1s supposed to encompass all young girls when accosted by an un- known young man. There is a curious, linking logic, and sometimes rapid sequence in succession of ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. apparently unrelated events. Until he stopped Julie at Fourteenth Street, Artie had no knowledge of her existence, and not the remotest connection with our Miss Blonde. Yet Julie had been ready to greet him because he was associated in her mind with the tow-haired one’s remark. This rather suggests that heedless tongue-wag- glers are more dangerous than carriers of flu germs. They are. It is just on the cards that if Miss Blonde had not made that cogent remark; Julie might have tipped her chin and pertinently suggested that Artie was decidedly what all eggs are not. With not a little ill-concealed pride, she would for many days have told the tale of her so-common adventure and virtuously anathemized “that fresh guy.” As it was, the bitter-sweet of the blonde’s poison dart had seeped into the girl’s take- a-chance spirit of adventuresomeness, and with her face partly uplifted to Artie’s ad- méring gaze, Julie dimpled and remarked: “ M’ name’s not Smith. It’s—it’s Som- ers. Julie Somers.” |. With a proper shade of gratitude for the kind acceptance of his worn-out, subterfu- gal addressing phrase, Artie responded with the name we already know him by, and in- troductions were complete. Artie had a number of other names, some more plebet- an, and others of a more distinguished character; but to us he remains Artie Fal- well. , . With just enough hesitation to be com- plimentary, Artie tucked his hand lightly under the girl’s elbow and guided her round the corner and across the street. They faced in the direction of Broadway. As they passed a candy-store, Julie glanced back over her shoulder. In the throng weaving about the news-stand under the “ L ” stairs, she glimpsed a figure stand- ing stock still and staring. With a nervous shake of her head and a meaningless giggle, Julie refused Artie’s pressing offer of light ‘refreshment, and forged ahead. Arthur Falwell made no comment; but a look of doubt came into his eyes. Under pretext of lighting a cigarette, he turned and looked to see if they were being fol- lowed. He saw nothing alarming, no pur- suing figure, no prospect of trouble. GOR GDOO (COL