Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 81: what you’re looking at

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Foster, however, on opening it was ob- livious to aught else, but his amends. — _ “The officers told me that you were a very desperate character, sir, and not know- ing of you previously, in the face of those shields they displayed, I was inclined to credit the statement, and hence may have exhibited more zeal than one of my posi- tion should. But, sir; so many, many things —even people, sir—are not just what they seem to be these days, that ene does not always know what one should do.” —— “ Quite so, Foster,” said Arthur. “It is of no consequence, happily. You may aed “Thank you, sir.” Felice greeted him at the foot of the stairs, “ Every time we meet, we eat, or almost.” | Like a fairy she tripped in at his side. Mrs. Moran was waiting their arrival. No shadow of his recent humiliation in- truded. Mrs. Moran had more than a few | queries regarding Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, and in the first pause comprehension of a bit of squab, served with a most zippy sauce, induced: Arthur to observe: “My compliments to your chef. This excels the proverbial home cooking. It really does!” Felice and Mrs. Moran both laughed. “The chef would hardly thank you for that,” said Felice. “ She’s old Mammy Poindexter, and she Cooked for papa long before he met mamma.” “And she thinks Mr. Moran is the predt- est man in the world—in which we agree,” supplemented the matron. ‘And what does Mr. Moran think of her?” asked Arthur. “ That would com- plete an equilateral triangle, if he holds: similar sentiments.” ‘“ Well,” said Felice, “ none of your poky angles will fit Mammy Poindexter or papa’s opinion, either. The only time he ever said much about her was when he told her the ace of spades turned pale whenever she came near it.” They all laughed. “1m rather looking forward to meeting your father,” said Arthur. “1 Supper’ you may have spoken of me to him.” A HATFUL OF TROUBLE. aie = “You're getting near a "dangerous curve!” smiled Felice. “You shouldn’t tease a guest,” said = : “You see, Arthur, Mr. Moran isn’t much impressed — mother, smiling the reproach. by the mere idea of a scholar. He started carrying water on a railway grade for a pit- tance and his board, when only fourteen. Mammy Poindexter’s husband was a fore- man of a number of negro laborers, and she cooked for every one. That’s why she thinks he’s such a great man. Mr. Moran had a very uphill fight.” Arthur nodded. The explanation was emphasized by the refined elegance of the . Surroundings. “But to look at him you’d never guess it;’ said Felice. ‘‘ His hair is as black as yours. He refuses to worry; after he leaves the office he’s generally through for the day—although, at times, owing to pres- sure, he likes to handle odds and ends down here, during the summer especially. Those times he generally comes down by boat and brings his secretary, Mr. Boyce, with him. After the dictation is over, father just throws it all off again until he goes back to the office. He says it’s the only way to keep young.” At the meal’s end they went for a stroll through the gardens. There was much to admire, not the least of which was a dwarf maple, imported from Japan, with Burgundy colored leaves. Then . Mrs. Moran pleaded fatigue and a slight headache. “I’m not used to nursing,” said’ she, “but the lady was so ill and such a dear — and old friend that I could not remain idle, You children can look after. each other. until bedtime. Good night.” Felice suggested the music room as twi light fell. She played very well indeed. “And mu- Sic, as is well known, hath charms. It was growing rather late when Avihir . finally ensconced himself in the same cretonne covered chair. He patted the thing almost affectionately, and thrilling to _ his sensitive finger tips came the touch of — the three steel based phials that he had left. in its ample recesses just before his third | arrest. oO 551 7 ‘comicbooks.co! |eleaba tt: