Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

PAGE ROMEO! little room, past the tousled bed, the dresser caked with powder like a skating rink with ice—past the clothesline that stretched from the closet hook to the gas jet whereon things was hanging that I’d forgot was hanging when I invited my _ gentleman friend to make a detour through my boo- doir. But I steered him safely by and we settled ourselves as comfy as two milk bot- tles on the fire-escape grating. A violin was playing somewhere—thin, high notes that soared and took my heart with ’em. And in my throat was a queer choking. | It’s coming! It’s coming! _ Dave shifted a geranium pot to one side and eased himself over. But 1 looked straight ahead, and over the chimneys the sky burned with red that trembled like a beating heart—till smoke fingers curled up to erase the colors from the day. Still 1 didn’t say nothing. The violin had ceased, but beneath us come the clatter and tinkle of evening dishes and somebody whistled, passionate: “Tt ain't a-gonna rain no more, no more, {t ain't a-gonna rain no more. How the heck you gonna wash you neck? 099 It ain’t a-gonna rain ao more! So sweet it was, so romantic, my bosom bulged with something that would of filled the whole world if I had let it go. Then, down in the dark, deep court be low that shone with lights like a million- aire’s private pool, come a long, monoton- ous monotone. I thought at first it was the scissor grinder, but it was too well oiled for that. ‘“’ Ro-ses!”’ it called in accents that wailed through the night air like the wind in a gutterpipe. ‘“‘ Ni-ice, r-red ro-ses!”’ Dave bristled, attentive. “ Ni-ice, r-red ro-ses!” continued the voice, with syllables so sweet they would lure a bee away from the hive. ‘ Buy ni- ice, r-ripe, r-red roses for da sweetheart. On’y fi’ cents da piece!” ‘““Want one, Tessie?” asked Dave, as careless as Morgan. ‘How you gonna get it?” I asked, meas- uring five stories underneath us with a doubtful eye, 6A 881 ‘* The way I get anything I want,” stat- ed Dave, alert. ‘‘ See and sabe.” He snapped into it, exhilarated, and com- menced backing down the iron ladder like an ape, only inconveniencing one geranium pot en route. I watched him, admiring. Climbing come to him as natural as to a tomato vine. My wonderful man! And as I hung expectant on my balcony, a sweet, calm feeling sugarcoated my soul. This was the romance of the ages! Romeo and Juliet! Come the soft pad of O’Sullivan heels on the iron ladder, then a dark, curly shock of Irish shingles outlined themselves in thé light. He stood beside me on the rickety land- ing, and with trembling hands wove the rose in my tangled locks, as I had often wove dreams through the tangled days. “Oh, Tessie!” he whispered. “Oh, Dave!” Then it come. Over his sweeping shoulder I watched the May moon bust through the maze of alley clotheslines like a bright idea in a cross word puzzle. Close he grabbed me— closer. This was it, then, that one long clinch that would last down the ages! But it didn’t. And we parted. Down inside me something turned cold. “I didn’t get you no ring,’”’ he was apolo- gizing, careless. ‘‘ Thought I’d salt the simoleons till later on and buy you some- thing useful. Vacuum cleaner or some- thing.” ‘Vacuum cleaner!” I tittered, the spell dispelled. ‘‘ Do you mean a shampoo?” He laughed, too, and grabbed me close again, though it didn’t seem the same. “We'll get married in June,” he an- nounced. ‘Sounds original to me,’’ I remarked, wondering why my heart wasn’t hammer- ing. Would Romeo have offered his Juliet a vacuum cleaner? He stayed a while, not talking much, but leaning against my shoulder as though he couldn’t do without the touch of it. And all the time, the nearer he got, the lonelier I felt and wanted to cry out desperate, “Oh, Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?” CONMUG DOOLK CO