Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

A CROWN ‘““How do I look?” I asked, with a sort of nervous giggle. ‘“Oh, so cool and sweet and small, and a bit tigerish as well,” he laughed. ‘‘ That’s your yellow hair and brown face, Betty, and your queer eyes that aren’t like any eyes I’ve ever seen before. But I do love your pale green dress and your little dark green jacket.”’ I laughed out of sheer happiness that he ‘should notice my clothes. As a matter of fact it was a little Paris arrangement that {1 had on—almond green georgette, with a lot of tucks to the skirt, and a short coat of olive green cloth with gold buttons, and a little hat of cocks’ feathers, all shimmer- ing green and black, hanging down on either side of my face. Then he seized my hands ane danced me round in the middle of the road. For- tunately, there was nobody in sight. “ Holiday—holiday—holiday!” he cried. “Just a day stolen, do you understand, Miss Fane? Stolen! The very nicest thing in the world. I’ve a very important engagement to-night.” ‘So have I,” I put in demurely. FOR SALE. ‘““ Have you, indeed? Oh, dear! Danc- ing? And where, may I ask?” ‘“ No, it’s private,” I informed him. “I have to be back by seven. me in Monte Carlo, Peter.” “Oh, can I? And, pray, why should I drop you anywhere?” His face was over- cast. “‘ Why are you talking already about the ending of this day?” “You began it, didn’t you?” I asked. “I know,” he said morosely. ‘ But, then, I ama king.” ‘“ And I am a dancing instructress, please, sir.” ‘And a great deal better at your job than I am, Betty girl.” His voice hurt me—it was so discouraged. ‘“Do you know that we are standing in the middle of the road, and that we are supposed to be going into Italy?” I asked. ‘“ Of course, Betty girl. Get into the car. I’m a fathead. Only this is our last day together—for the present—and I’m half airaid to begin it. Come along!” We got into the car. We started off with a leap like a captive deer released from a cart and taking to its heels. You can drop TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK Le} U Lv) Lo] IMMORTAL JiM ‘Ti M—the man ’’—we put that on his stone That marks that bit of ground That comes to all of us in turn, When leavin’—outward bound. But Jim still lingered round somehow, No spook like thing to fear; It’s hard explainin’ what I mean— Jim went—but still is here. It’s twenty years since he checked out, But still we talk of him As one men all looked up to, God fearing, all there Jim. A halo? Naw! *T would fret his style. Immortal? That may be. I only know Jim lived and died, But seems around—to me. Robert Baker. CoOmicooolk 123 (S@