Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

. 2 830 The sound of crunching shale brought them back. A young girl was coming up the trail which led by the side porch where the breakfast table was set. She was a tiny girl, but exquisitely proportioned. She was bareheaded and carrying a parasol. Her white gown was cut square, disclosing a soft white throat. Her hair lay in even, golden waves. She bowed to young Mr. Mackenzie, giv- ing him a flashing smile which revealed a dimple. Her eyes rested for a moment im- personally on Lynnie. ““T never saw anybody half so lovely,” exclaimed Lynnie. ‘Is she real? Who is she?” ‘Her name,” said Archer, “is Sophy Sanders. /sv’t she lovely? She’s a mighty sweet girl—but you should see her mother. She looks like the Day of Judgment. So- phy must have been changed at birth.” ‘“Does she live here?” “She’s just out of finishing school and came here to be with her mother a while. She dances wonderfully. You must join the dancing club, Miss Brooke.” “ But I don’t dance,” said Lynnie a little sadly. She looked at him for a moment, then said with an effort: ‘“T_J—don’t do anything that girls In real life do! I never talked to a young man before. You are really the very first one I. ever talked to—except,” she amend- ed, “fruit tree agents and the ones that sell sewing machines and patent churns, or renovate feather beds—young men like that, who aren’t, of course, folks,” said Lynnie Brooke. : ‘“ But—but how does it happen?” asked the amazed young man. “Is that an im- pertinent question? Somebody brought you up very beautifully, you know.” “ My mother,” said Lynnie in a voice of hushed tenderness. ‘“ And Aunt Jury,” she smiled. The young man was leaving. He held out his hand, and Lynnie laid her slim, brown one in it. ‘Would you like for me to speak to Mr. Baylor about you—your shares, you know? He and Mr. Carruthers are away, but they'll be home to-night.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Tt would be mighty kind of you,” said Lynnie. After he had gone Lynnie stood for a long time looking into the mirror. She tried to puff her hair. The result was un- satisfactory. Presently she said: “Aunt Jury, I wish you would let out the waist of Aunt Fanny’s white mull—the one with blue flowers in it.” ‘““Sho’ly, honey, sho’ly.” Lynnie stuck a tentative finger into her soft cheek. “I wish I had a dimple,” she said. Aunt Jury stopped in the middle of the floor. “ Quoilin’ wid yo’ looks!” she exclaimed. “You better take heed to yo’ manners an’ *havior!”” She moved around the kitchen mumbling to herself. Then she called out: ‘“Quoilin’ wid yo’ looks! You de spit’n’ image o’ yo’? Aunt Fanny—an’ she was de belle o’ de roun’ worl’! Huh! Dzmple! You better thank de good Lawd ’at He done give you somepin better *n a hole in yo jaw!” V. Mr. CHARLES BAYLOR, pouring rich cream into his coffee on the following morning, complimented Archer Mackenzie upon his milking. “Tt wasn’t as easy as I thought when I rented Persephone,” Archer laughed. “ In fact, I fell down on the job. The old col- ored woman next door has come to my rescue.” “Who are the people next door?” in- quired Mr. Sam Carruthers idly, reaching for the cream pitcher. “4 Miss Brooke and her negro servant. They’re on their way to California. And by the way, sir,’’ he spoke to Baylor, “ she was asking about you. It seems she stopped off here to inquire about a mine.” “A mine? What mine?” “ As a matter of fact, I had never heard of the mine. She said it was the Golden Apple.” There was a barely perceptible pause. “A Miss Brooke?” said Baylor. ‘Is her mother with her?”’ ‘“Her mother died a year ago, she told me. I happen to know her family. She is CO) oO Comcooolkxs