Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

WAR SPAWN. across the floor, and through the door which opened upon the tiny lower deck. By the light of the moon he had seen through the salon window a figure stand- ing upon the deck that made him think he was seeing the ‘‘ Goddess of the Bridge.” With a weird feeling that he was being haunted, he ran toward the tall figure standing there. He had no sort of idea that he was going to meet reality when he put out his hand. ‘“T suppose you just slid down here on a moonbeam, but I’m going to make sure that you don’t climb back again!” he cried firmly, as he felt in his grasp a real flesh and blood arm. ee CHAPTER VIII. THE FIGHTER. EGGO my arm!” commanded Judith , imperiously, and quite character- istically. Stephen’s grasp perceptibly tightened. . “ Promise me you won’t vanish up that moonbeam, and I will!” he agreed. “You talk like a story book,” said Judith amazed. ‘“‘I ain’t goin’ to go away on no moonbeam! Where’d you get that stuff?” Stephen was so fascinated by the girl’s beauty that he did not mind her grotesque language in the least. His goddess was sailing away with him to Pernambuco, the girl he had been dreaming about! Romance had followed him! “Who are you? How did you get here? Where are you going? The ques- tions tumbled out as he surveyed her, fear- ful even yet that she was a figment of his rather riotous imagination. “T’m the stowaway, I’m goin’ to Brazil, and I ain’t goin’ to tell you how I got here!” There was defiance in Judith’s voice. Stephen surveyed her incredulously. “You can’t be the stowaway. I saw her. She’s quite a different sort of person,” “Tt’s the clothes!” explained Judith out of the depths of her feminine wisdom. “Clothes make a lot of difference. Who * (eo) 389 are you?” she asked, curiosity vibrating in her voice. She had not recognized in this somewhat ugly, young man the prince about whom she had woven her dreams as she stood on the_bridge. She felt a distinct shock of disappointment. The son of a millionaire ought to be handsome. -Besides, he had looked hand- some from her distant viewpoint. Even the moonlight failed to soften his rugged features into anything resembling what she had dreamed. But her disappointment last- ed only for an instant. There came to her the memory of his letter, his kindness rout- ing all her disappointment. She stepped closer, and) looked up into his face with lovely eloquent eyes. “Stephen Fenwick, very much at your service!” he said, bowing low. “Qh!” cried the girl, drawing back. “I ain’t goin’ to try to thank you for bein’ so good tome. Maybe you know?” Then for some reason Judith was at- tacked by a fit of shyness. She drew back into the shadow of the overhanging deck. ‘Tt must be goin’ now,” she said hurried- ly. “ You see, I heard the music, and I couldn’t stay away.” “You like music?” asked Stephen di- vertingly. “Oh! I love it!” Emerging from the shadow, she clasped her hands impulsively together upon the railing, and gazed out over the moonlit water, her sudden attack of shyness momentarily in abeyance. “ But I ain’t never heard music like that. Some- how it seemed all moonshine, just like the night!” she cried. Stephen stared. The girl had imagina- tion, though she did clothe her thoughts rageedly. With a little sigh she turned away from the railing. “I'll go now,” she said simply. “Don’t go,” pleaded Stephen, eagerly bending toward her. “ I’m terribly lonely. The Atlantic Ocean certainly isn’t the most lively place in the world at night. Come up on deck with me. You might like to walk.” Again Judith was attacked by the feel- ing of shyness. An explanation was due this very kind young man; she must tell in) 3 Ehboo (E(0)