Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

BORROWED PLUMES, clear; but both men hesitated. The same idea was at work in subtle Oriental brain and in judicious Caucasian, “'Let’s go over and see if we’ve over- looked anybody, Ugichi!” “Yess, sar. We go.” But nobody had been neglected. It had been a free party, with everybody more than welcome. After ransacking this head- quarters of the underworld, their sole find was a miserable little runt of a man hiding and shivering in a pantry; and neither Ugichi nor George had the heart to beat him up. He was dragged forth and kicked downstairs. “We'll leave him to mop up,” George decided, ‘‘ Let him look after his dead and wounded.” Even yet the Japanese was reluctant to go. It was his remorselessly logical Oriental notion that it would be a grand idea to break the neck of each of their victims, “TI do it so easy,” he pleaded. But this was too much for the American, He vetoed the idea decisively, So they passed out of the narrow brick house, and down its three steps, and turned toward the waiting fiacre, where the distracted Mme. Volontiers was on the point of sum- moning the police. She threw her arms about George’s neck, unabashed by the presence on the opposite seat of the stolid Ugichi. She crooned over his bruises until he blushed fiery red while he reiterated that they were mere scratches, Finally, in a desperate attempt to stem the tide, he fondled a glittering necklace of green stones she was wearing, and asked her what they were. ‘“ Ah, my Georges! I shall tell you. It is I who have deceive you. These stone, they are emeralds, Figure yourself, it was not of the bank books I have fear that Langouste, that sacred pig of a brother, would find! Nenni! For these jewel— and many more, some pearl, a little dia- monds, they belong to my mother, who-was of great family, A fortune, you will say. But, yes; it is so. And my poor father, when he lose his little fortune, he never will sell from me these jewels of my mother. ‘ Delphine,’ he would say to me—for that _is my true name, mon Georges, Delphine Jr, Seemed helpless as a little boy, ~ = et as ee a Pore ss 0 ee - x = fanaa a Ne eer) “ oe _ a4 ie ou ee Me oe ae ae ee ae ee ee 691 Grandchamps—‘ Delphine, these shall one day be for your dot! I will not touch them.’ And so, voici! You have save me from despair. But I do not forgive myself that I bring you so close to death. Not never do I forgive!” ‘“‘Shucks!” grumbled George. “I had the time of my life. And so did Ugichi here, if I’m any judge!” The Japanese grinned, and lovingly fin- gered his honorable knife. He had won without having to sully its blade with base blood! Delphine begged to be allowed to dress the wounds of her warrior; of both of them. But George laughingly refused. They stopped at a chemist’s for some iodine and collodion and absorbent cotton, and left her at her own door, with her promise that she would drop in for tea. Then they re- turned to the Street of the Broken Jug, where the two men patched one another up. Ugichi rustled tinned soup and some cold meat from a food shop, and then George threw himself into an easy chair in the little den, with a glass of dry sherry at hand and a good cigar between his lips, ruminating pleasurably upon the lively times one may manage to have without any money! He was getting drowsy in the rays of the afternoon sun when some one knocked at the door. Ugichi answered the summons, and after a moment appeared at the en- trance to the den. ‘Meester George Strong,” he announced. For an instant George gaped stupidly at the thought that Count Vaudreuil must have eluded the vigilance of his charming wife, and returned to the scenes of his bohemian existence; but before he could rise, heavy, firm steps shook his floor, and there stood framed in it a big, square-shoul- dered, gray-haired man wearing a Stetson hat and carrying a walking stick the size of a club. With a shout George sprang from his seat and threw himself into the elder man’s arms. “Dad! Dear old dad! Of all people in the world. How—” The eyes of the father were moist as he shook himself free, and held his son at arm’s length, in a grip in which even George, com ebooks ons C Ee a at : ° ten" Mean * ~— i «‘q™ =e, SO ee eT ee SP ee