Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

THE ENCHANTED WEEK. how, Mary felt that this would spoil Old Lady Five-and-Ten. However, she was busy, and thought no more of the shopper until a commotion told her something was the matter. It was warm outside, and the atmosphere of the crowded store was oppressive. Some one had fainted, no doubt. “Tt’s your high-hat friend,” Gladys an- nounced, peering through the crowd. “ Wonder if Mr. Grimple has any smelling salts! Home, James!’ she burlesqued the gestures of Old Lady Five-and-Ten. “That’s what comes of shopping among such or- dinary people!” Mary was furious at her. ‘ It’s a shame! The poor old thing!” Then she heard her name. “Mr. Grimple wants you,” some one said, and Mary left the counter. The manager stood behind a chair, hold- ing a glass of water. Looking pale as death, yet smiling with apparent gratitude, Old Lady Five-and-Ten looked up as Mary hur- ried over. Mr. Grimple was beckoning. “ Miss Horton,” he bowed. “I wish you would see this lady safely home.” “ Yow’re very kind,” the old woman said. “Tf you'll just help me to my ca = He did, and Mary went with them. She made the old lady comfortable against the leather cushions. “ Where shall I tell him?” Mary asked, as Grimple held open the door. “The chauffeur knows,” came the an- swer. ‘It’s sweet of you to go with me.” “Tm glad to,” Mary answered. The cab moved through the traffic. “ Do you feel all right?” “Just a little giddy. I shall be myself quite soon.” Then she sat very quietly, staring out of the window. It was not as though she saw the throngs and the maze of buses, trolleys and cars through which the taxi threaded. Her thoughts seemed far away, and she lis- tened as though she expected to hear the clatter of horses’ hoofs. Old Lady Five- and-Ten forgot that she was not in her own brougham. Mary made no effort to break in on her silence. A natural curiosity gave her a little thrill. She was going to see where 619 the old lady lived; find out who she was. She felt it would be like looking back through some long forgotten book of social history. The cab continued down Chestnut Street, turning south at Eighth. It paused before a big brick house just after it turned into Pine, a once proud mansion whose worn, white steps were discolored and chagrined at the present humility of the former resi- dence. A sign on the pillared doorway, with Colonial fanlight, announced that it was a boarding house—that there were vacancies. The departed grandeur of the place seemed appropriate to Mary—also a trifle pathetic. “Will you pay the man, my dear?” Mary found the worn mesh purse thrust into her hand. “ Give him something for himself. He is very good to me, and I always ask for him.” The chauffeur was a clean-cut chap. Mary saw that he was interested in his aged fare. He and Mary helped her into the vestibule. From the black silk bag appeared a key. Mary unlocked the door. “Next Tuesday at ten,” the old lady said, and nodded to the chauffeur. Then she went in with Mary. The place was musty and dingy, and the hall was dark. An odor of stale cook- ing mingled with that of dust. The carpet was worn and threadbare and the once rich paper on the walls was badly streaked and cracked. Old Lady Five-and-Ten gave these things not the slightest notice. From her manner, the once magnificent home might have re- gained its grandeur. ‘““Come in, my dear.” She opened a door at the third floor back. ‘ Thank you so much for helping me—and do sit down and rest. You see, I live here quite alone, but this room is full of memories. It’s furnished with my things.” It was certainly full of antiquities. A haircloth sofa, a walnut bed, and chairs that must have dated from the old lady’s youth. All about were knickknacks, photograph | albums and books. A copper kettle and china cups were on a carved tea-stand. In the corner stood an old leather trunk. Gomichbooks (E@)