Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

GENTLEMEN ONLY, “ Why should you? [I tell you I won't be bothered.” She looked down at the bills eagerly, wrote the receipt, and handed it back. He started for the door. Once there, his fierce gaze was upon her again. “ Vou’re sure there are no women here?” “No one but the maid and myself,” “‘H-m!” That seemed to dispose of Amalie. “ But that maid! If I catch her snooping around my things—I’ll—I'll scalp her—see?” He stalked down the front steps, his very hair bristling aggressively. Amalie was gazing with rapt joy upon the money in her hand. It was a miracle, an incredible mira- cle. Here was a tenant for the front room whose presence would materially subtract from the deficit column of the budget book and for whom she need not be responsible. The terms upon which he had taken the room absolved her of any moral obligations concerning him—his personal proclivities or ethical codes. He had demanded nothing save the room, and he had paid her own price. She might put him quite out of her mind. It would not even be necessary for the mutinous trio to know of his presence. She had a guilty thrill at the thought, but unfortunately the punctual Philip Swift, coming in at five nine exactly, collided with Victoria, broom and duster laden, coming from the parlor floor front. He set his brief bag on the stairs and went direct to Ama- lie’s sitting room. “ Victoria tells me you’ve rented the front “ Y-yes,” faltered Amalie miserably. “ Well, that’s fine!” His eyes shone with paternal approval. “ Pay your price?” “Qh, yes! More than I hoped for.” “Well, well! What sort of chap is he?” “Oh, very nice—a middle-aged man.” He considered this gravely. ‘“Sounds good,” he decided. “ What’s his business?” “ {—I don’t know.” She felt like a naughty girl caught in the jam closet. “You don’t mean to say you didn’t ask?” “ N-no—I’m afraid I didn’t.” “But really *—he decided to be im- duigent with her—*“ that’s scarcely busi- nesslike, you know.” “JT know. Still ’—her manner implied, feebly, that it was her own risk—“ I’m sure he’s all right. He paid in advance.” “ Well, I should hope so,” said Swift. “ His references were good, I suppose?” “ T—well—” “He gave you references, didn’t he?” She was twisting her fingers miserably. *“ No, he didn’t. I—” “Well, by Jove!” The literary fight glowed dangerously. ‘ He can’t get away with that—here! Trying to take advantage of you just because he thinks you’re a wom- an alone. I'll have to—” “Oh, but you mustn’t do anything,” she protested frantically. ‘“He’s quite all right. A gentleman, I’m certain. I could tell by his face.” “ My dear Mrs. Ladd!” He was like a tried but patient father. “If you knew more of life, you would know better than to judge on such evidence. Now we must—” “‘ But it doesn’t matter what he is. He paid me, you see, and he’s only going to use the room once in a while—”’ “Once in a while!” Swift was dum- founded. ‘“ You mean he isn’t going to dive in it?” “Oh, no!” she said happily. “ He said he’d only want the use of the room occa- sionally.” But for some reason this announcement had exactly the opposite effect to what she had expected. “ Good Lord!” gasped Mr. Swift. “ This is an outrage!” “ But—but why?” “Don’t you see? He must have his liv- ing quarters somewhere else. It’s plain on the face of it that he wants that room for some illicit purpose. Sounds to me as if he might be a bootlegger and wanted some place to keep his stuff and take refuge from the police.” *“ Oh, no!” gasped Amalie. “It’s unmistakable,” Philip Swift point- ed out. “ He comes here—makes no fuss about the price—refuses to give you refer- ences, or to tell you anything about him- self—” ‘al CORMICLOOKSsECO 679, “— ~