Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

WHERE his voice rose. ‘“ But, I assure you, you have confused me with some other Ber- — ford.” “But I—/ haven't!” the girl stam- mered. ‘“ There isn’t any other—I mean, you are Tom Berford and—and who should know you know better than / know you?” And having fired this one, she turned and gazed at the five old gentlemen; and, hon- estly, it was astounding, that expression of hers! She looked utterly dazed and strick- en and alone, like somebody who has just landed in a strange country and found that the friends she expected to meet her are all dead, if you get what I mean. She looked so forsaken, so pretty, that before her eyes had rested on Mr. Bennett for two seconds he was muttering: “ Well—well, upon my word! poor child, 1—that is to say—” “Please don’t say anything, Mr, Ben- nett,” the president said very crisply. ‘“ The young lady has made an astonishing mis- take, of course. I was unaware that I owned a double, either in name or appear- ance; but such is apparently the case. It’s most unusual, of course, but—” Everybody in our little Berford Corpora- tion world had a habit of hanging on Mr. Berford’s words and listening most. atten- tively to all he had to say. This girl did not belong to our world; it seemed to be against her principles to let Mr. Berford finish even one sentence! As in this case. Abruptly, she switched her attention from the direc- torate and turned it upon the president; her big eyes opened in astonishment; she took a step nearer Mr. Berford and searched his face—which, by the way, was getting a little redder. “Tom, you’re not telling them that you —you don’t even know me?” she choked. “ Vou—oh, you couldn’t do that!” ‘T am telling not only them, I am telling you that—as you yourself know perfectly well—I never laid eyes upon you before, madam!” the president cried. “ But—but—” - “ And whatever all this may be, whether it is an astounding error on your part or— or whatever else, we have had more than enough of it!” Mr. Berford concluded. ‘ f ask you to retire!” Why, my WAS I? 173 Did she retire from the scene? Yes, she retired just about as much as the directors’ table or the west wall of the room retired! She stood absolutely motionless for a little space, looking and looking at Mr. Berford, whose temper was decidedly up—just look- ing and not giving one small hang for his temper! What that little thing’s eyes were saying, I actually hated to think; but they were saying it and the directorate, not to mention Mr. Berford himself, were lis- tening. . “Tom,” she whispered. ‘“‘ You—you’re not ashamed of me, are you?” And then she wept! Aye, she began to sniff and her pretty lips began to tremble and she pulled out a little joke of a hand- kerchief and tried to hide behind it, her shoulders shaking. And, to say the least, the response was prompt! Mr. Berford stood like a statue, staring at her incredu- lously and quite pale now, but the old gen- tlemen all left their chairs at once. Isaac Craven jammed his hands down in his trousers pockets and looked steadily at our president; the other four hurried to the girl. Mr. Bennett dragged a chair from the table; Jones and Moreland helped in forc- ing her into it gently. Macpherson patted her shoulder and sighed heavily: “Well, well, lass! Don’t you cry now. These things happen and—’’ | “What things happen?” Mr. Berford roared savagely. ‘‘ I assure you, Mr. Mac- pherson, that nothing, of any description whatever, has happened to warrant—” ‘““ Maybe not, Tom,” Macpherson said quietly, “ but this is no time to let your anger run away with you. You’re distress- ing her!” He went on patting her shoulder. Mr. Bennett patted her other shoulder. Jones started off to get her a glass of water. Mr. Moreland picked up a newspaper and fanned her—I don’t know why and I’m sure he didn’t know, either. They were all talk- ing at once, too, and crooning over her as they might have crooned over a child. Queer, how much attention a pretty girl can get with a few tears, isn’t it? “Now, my dear, my dear!” Mr. Ben- nett was saying. “ Tos picasa eam.