Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

400 Juli was only following the dictates of un- conscious adopting of general practises. She was no more awere of the habit of silence that came over her once sie was within the house, than she was sensitive to the stale, flat odors that ascended from the basement, or the whispering murmur and drone of voices - throbbing monotonously behind closed doors or vibrating through the thin partitions. These things were so, and were part of her mostly unquestioning, uncurious existence. Just as she was unmoral, so she was un- accustomed to acute sensitiveness to the push and pull of the inanimate. There are patterns on wall-papers that form leering, gibing faces at unhappiness. Chairs that cackling creak at discomfort of tired body and limbs. There are beds that seem to be hocedooed with taunting groans prohibitive of restful sleep to the nervous. Sundry places and plots of grass bear the discour- teously terse notices: ‘‘ Keep out and keep off.”” If rudeness in the printed word is al- lowable in these cases, the doors of some houses and many rooms should have nailed to them the same warnings. Without stopping to light the gas, or close her door, Julie knelt by her bed and fumbled underneath it. She drew out a fair-sized cardboard hat-box, and before she lifted the lid she knew the thing she had vaguely feared had come to pass: some one, in all probability the landlady, had discov- ered her secret and she had come home too late. If she had not stayed at the office working overtime. If she had not gone to the Mog. If— Julie dropped the lid of the box by her side and mechanically felt over the old rag she had carefully made a nest of. Her groping fingers touched no warm, stirring little body. Even the bottom of her soap- dish that she had that morning sinese with milk, was gone. ‘“é Kitty, kitty,” she cried softly, and leaned her hot forehead against the bed. In the next room a crabbed old woman heard the faint sounds of the girl’s distress, and her bed creaked as she turned over re- sentfully. What, indeed, had she to do with the troubles of a flighty, stay-out-to- all-hours-of-the-night girl? The very idea! ~~ % ry - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. | To the man who has unfortunately lost the saving grace of sympathetic under- standing that lingers on in the hearts of the great majority, to the woman whose mother-kindness has been shriveled by worldliness, a battered candy-stick, old doll may be a thing of distaste; a piece of junk to be kicked aside. To the child-owner of this disreputable effigy the case is different, and contempt or rough treatment of that doll is justly resented. That pet of saw- dust and plaster has been partner of child- ish, but none the less real, joys and sor- rows. It has been told secrets and never betrayed the trust bestowed upon it. has been a faithful friend and: playmate. The true worth of all prized possessions lays not in their cash price of purchase or in their sale value. That scrap of lace, that old pipe! Prized not for what they are, but for what they represent.” The one may be a token of a day of great happiness; the other is the never-failing old pal and com- panion of many hours of lonely thought. That old brooch set with seed pearls? It is of fine gold. It is out of date and cannot be worn in consistent fitness with present.fashion. Yet it has a market value. It could be sold, and its quaint, old-fash- ioned shape could be rendered in the cruci- ble to a little puddle of material for new fashioning. Some collector of the antique might buy it. Do we sell? Not if we can help it, and we remember that it belonged to mother’s mother. _ So the kitten that Julie mourned, al- though in itself but a scraggy representa- tive of a species of selfish, comfort-cadging, long-tailed egoists, was regretted by her be- cause—well, there. were all kinds of geod reasons. She had rescued it from the dan- gers of the street. She had bought milk for it. For that kitten she had made sacri- fices. Small, but nevertheless genuine enough. And, though she had had cause for heartbreak, by greater sorrow, she would sob alone. Angels of goodness dwell in dark places as well as in paradise, but the confirmed rumor is shy on sympathy, or inert by long It : inurement in exile from family and friends. . The average rooming-house Is a place for transient lodgers, for young beginners mn LA- YOO COMMUC SS (SO