Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

THE DANCE “And now—if you don’t mind—lI’d You're a per. like to shake hands with you. sportsman!” Bartlett shook hands, with a little smile, and then just fell back in his chair with a sigh and died. It was a good end. The orchestra was still playing wildly beyond the palms—the dancers were still whirling madly. ‘““ Well,” said Silvers huskily, “I guess it’s about time to call it a night. Napoleon, tell them to open the doors!” OF DEATH. 613 Napoleon slipped away. “The King of Clubs,” added Silvers slowly, “ had a brief season, but an event- ful one. I'll be glad to go into the country now and rest!” And he turned and joined Charlie, who was standing at the doors. Outside dark- ness was just giving way to dawn. And the revelers, passing out, called back to him that the opening had been a great suc- cess and that they had never had a better time! THE END. U BY ANOTHER U U SEA HE Western gull is whiter than a dove Or the ungathered foam. I close the eyelids, and again | roam The meadowlands of forty years ago. I see the osprey circling far above, Come back to the old nest from Mexico, And we are young once more, O boyhood love! The spray of that last wave is on my face. Time breaks. We hide again Beneath the cedar from the April rain. O youth’s forgotten music, lost to me! Ocean and sea wind echo now your grace; But what one wave can tell us of the sea Is more than all I learn of time and place. Dear days, a little while our very own! Dear mouth I never kissed! The years between us gather like the mist. It is enough to know you are no more. It is enough to know I walk alone. Still cries the ocean on that distant shore, But farther than the osprey have you flown. George Sterling. com icbooks.com