Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

ae 30 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. heart-burn, and then he was tarnation ugly! And each night after he goes to bed, and in the mornings before he gets up, he has a habit of clearing his throat and heming and hawing, that ’d drive a saint crazy. “So, seeing how mismated we was, I suggested we separate peaceable like, and go our ways. But that didn’t suit him at all. He said it was all right for me to talk about going our separate ways; but that only meant him going his; all I had to do was to stay right on where I was. The only one to suffer would be 4m. It would incon- venience him mightily. Mean he’d have to get him another business, and go to work. He was living too easy as it was. So I couldn’t budge him.” George nodded, wondering just where he horned into this prosy village drama. . “Mind you,” Mrs. Sproul went on, “I didn’t want any divorce. Let me get rid of this one, and I never wanted to clap eyes on another man in the family! But there he was; I couldn’t very well throw him out. He hadn’t exactly done anything actionable. Too smart for that. One of these smooth, pious critters, asking a blessing every meal, reading from the Scripture every night, boasting that he had no vices—bar his pipe. And all the time, mean as pussley. “T couldn’t take a mite of comfort in my own home; the one that had sheltered whole regiments of Millers! Sneaky, he was, teo; I was always missing small amounts from the cracked sugar bowl where I kept money for convenience. Tried to git me to make over my bank account into a joint one. Buyin’ things, and having them charged, and then when the bill came in, it was I had to pay. He hadn’t anything! Or, if he has, he’s got it hid so cute I can’t find trace of hide nor hair. “ Finally, this idea come to me; the no- tion of advertising for somebody even mean- er than what he is, and getting him to come live with us and making my husband SO uncomfertable that he’d ruther get out than not. And that’s how I came to write that advertising piece, which you saw and an- — swered.” George’s eyes popped. ‘But what’d happen to me if I did come? I got no rights ° nnn a ee = -=S5 => at Ss — po . ies pare arTe aye ae ote, oe ae, — é —— eee Ss nt ae Sty) Ss 5 ee ee ae pretty silk throw-on, from Spain. _ there, coming between. man and wife, and- ASS = Ee == - =a je i he eee aa <— Sy ee a — = <- a" =o Se eg OE a your old man would kick me clear across the town lines if I tried it!” Mrs. Sproul smiled. “Oh, I planned that all out! Listen. I said I was the last of my family left; and I s’pose that is so. But I had a younger brother, William. After mother died, he and I lived on with father in the old home- stead. I kept house, and William helped run the farm. ‘‘ My father was a hard man. He prided himself on being stern but just. I can see, lookin’ back, that he was no sort of a man to bring up a young, high-spirited boy. Didn’t matter so much about me; long as I cooked three meals of victuals a day, and washed the clothes, and swept and mopped, churned, helped milk the cows, put up jel- lies and preserves, and pickles, and salt down beef and pork, and mend the men folks’ clothes, and didn’t ask for no spend- ing money, father let me run my own gait. But with William, ’twas different. “ He was a fine, handsome lad, popular with the village boys and girls, and natural- ly he liked his good times. Nothing vicious about him; just good wholesome fun. But father kept his nose right down to the grind- stone. Didn’t believe in dancing. Wouldn’t let him read modern novels. Thwarted him in every way. And so William ran away to sea when he was only feurteen years old. And that’s the last we ever see of him. Father lived on for more’n ten years, and then he died; and then I was alone, till I went crazy with the heat, or something, and up and married this Ernest Sproul.” “This brother then, is dead?” George asked, ‘Must be. I got post cards from him— never was any hand to write much—from queer ports at the other end of the world. One or two a year. Once he sent me seme And then a letter come from Liverpeol, saying he was second mate of a three-master, and wanted I should leave father and join him and we'd set up housekeeping together somewheres in England. I couldn’t do that; father was in his last sickness, then; it was my duty to stand by. I wrete and told him yee ee Feta em ; 3 Ate Ss “Ae. _ “= ~ aad a = to Omichook com Tat em Lt