Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

574 portant business dinner of his life in New York’s most brilliant hotel, fully aware that across the slack of his handsome pearl gray trousers an electric iron had branded him deep brown? And all to save his stenog- rapher from losing her job. Of such things are heroes made! When he greeted Moody in the crowded lobby instinct of self-preservation taught Hill a jaunty pose. He held his straw hat behind him and teetered nonchalantly. He contrived a rather grave walk to the big dining room, his hands behind his back, holding the hat in place while he listened deferentially to Moody’s commonplace re- marks, 7 But-at the checkroom the real test came. He had to give up hat and stick, and ahead of him stretched the dining room, vast as the Western prairies, crammed with people in brilliant dress and every one of them, so it seemed, staring full at him. Morgan Hill stuck it out, the long, weary, footsore pil- grimage to a table in the farthest corner. He stuck it out, but when an innocent burst of laughter rose from a table he passed, his knees turned to water. ‘“‘ Alice!” he repeat- ed to himself and fixed his eyes steadfastly on that banner. Moody was a gloomy, middle-aged man with a bad color and drooping lip. He was civilly polite to his young host, but his eye lacked luster. Moody was like the cutting east wind that can rob the happiest spring day of its charms. Hill viewed him with sinking heart. The business of ordering dinner engrossed the younger man. With real enthusiasm he proposed: ‘‘ Let’s say Lynnhavens to start on, and some of the green turtle soup. We might try the sole with tartar sauce. Then how about this extra large English mutton chop, creamed potatoes, asparagus tips, heart of lettuce salad and—oh, this looks good! Say we add an order of the fresh string beans! When it comes to desert, use your own judgment. I’m very partial to the deep dish apple pie myself, especially when it has lots of hard sauce running over it. That and big cups of coffee with lots of cream—” ~ , Hill stopped then. Subtle changes had - been working in the gloomy face of Mr. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Moody. Suddenly he held up his hand like a traffic policeman. 7 “If you please, Mr. Hill,” he said firmly, almost wildly. ‘‘ Order what you like, but give me nothing except some soda crackers and a bowl of milk, you hear, waiter? Thin, blue milk, no cream! My doctor’s orders, Mr. Hill. I suffer, suffer dreadfully, — from the stomach, Mr. Hill.” “ Oh!” said Hill blankly. At that moment some instinct told him he was a beaten man. He had pawned his watch in vain. Moody was not going to thaw. But at least he would eat! For once he *would taste all the delights of one square meal! His eyes, long starved of such sights, saw richly laden trays passing, observed waiters slicing juicy steaks and dismember- ing crispy brown chickens and guinea hens. His nostrils caught errant scents of roasted flesh and fresh baked rolls and spicy sauces, “Of course you must order whatever you like,’ Moody went on quite needlessly. Starved too long to resist, Hill would eat this once come what might. He ate, with a relish for gristly chop and heavily creamed vegetables that made Moody turn his eyes away. He ate with a joy almost savage, and not even Moody, the death’s head, glooming over his soda crackers and skimmed milk, toying fretfully with them, could ruin his appetite. He ate because he had to, and at every vigorous bite a fresh shudder seized his dyspeptic guest until between envy and spleen Moody fairly loathed the young man. When his famished stomach was in some degree sated, glimmers of reason began to return to Morgan Hill. He put aside thoughts of deep dish apple pie crowned with hard sauce, put aside even a brimming pot of coffee with thick cream on the side and foreswore the rich after dinner cigar his soul cried out for. He must fight on, fight—_ for Alice! “Tet me suggest a good show,” Hill said enticingly. He considered his guest and added: ‘ The Theater Guild has been doing fine work with one of those new Russian tragedies—”’ “No, no, thank you, Mr. Hill. I—not to-night—”’ = OO —cGomichnoo S (E@)