Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

Ya MAG TR ty x NW WN —o =——= =o Nai i / ns cama | t \ , ‘ hi) AKON f Ny \ By BEATRICE ASHTON VANDEGRIFT T’S a far cry from broncho-buster to boarding house biddy, but I’m the shout. Five years ago I was seeing the world from the brake beams of a baggage car— shearing sheep in Wyoming, picking prunes in the Santa Clara, holding my own with the kind of he-men that would rather pull a gat than yawn. To-day I’m seeing the world from the kitchen stove—shearing spinach in the morning, peeling prunes in the evening, barely holding my own with the kind of he-women that would kill you with a look over an underdone egg. I acquired the boarding house by mar- riage. When I took to wife the Widow Tal- bot I was endowed with the three story brownstone shanty overlooking Gramercy that some twenty souls called ‘“ home.” Inside a year I was soft, fat, and lazy. The most violent exercise I took was racing the gray cat to the warmest corner by the kitchen stove. Then Aggie went. It was the shrimps, an intoxicated tin of them, I sat by the old carved bed as she lay there, green and gasping, and something gentle came over me, ‘“ William,” she whispered, “ will you promise me something?” “Sure, Aggie,’ I soothed, my throat choking like a mustang with the heaves. “Sure, I promise. What do you want?” “{ want you to stay here and look after these people,” she said, feeble but earnest. “It’s home to them, William. For fifteen years it’s been home to them, and we can’t turn them out. Mrs. Beamish, and Miss Meeker, and all. Promise me you'll stay.” “Tl stay, Aggie.”’ “Be nice to Mrs. Beamish,” she cau- tioned, in between groans. ‘‘ She pays for the whole house with that big front suite. Don’t let her go, whatever happens, Wil- liam.” ‘““ No, I won’t let her go, Aggie.” She sighed, and her hand gripped tight inside mine. ‘“ Don’t let no one walk out on the rent,” she warned me then, and went, leaving me desolate. 463 ECORMICLOO© (E@)