Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

512 villae grew. And he walked upon a lawn that was green and well trimmed. A light showed at several of the down- Stairs windows, and Teddy Armbister pic- tured the pleasant, cozy interior; went on and pictured evenings that he would prob- ably spend here, chatting with Miss Wood- stock of crops and this and that. He had forgotten that he had come to Florida because he hated women; yet Miss Woodstock was really different. She was more like a man. She looked like the kind of girl who would make a wonderful com- panion, a real pal. Come to think of it, the two of them ought to be able to have a lot of fun to- gether down here. They could take rides in the roadster, and have some jolly picnics in the Captain Kiddo, his motor cruiser. In that short walk from his car, Teddy Armbister thought of all this—and more. He told himself that Miss Woodstock would look like a-million dollars in a bath- ing suit. And so innocent in his mind was Teddy Armbister that he did not for a mo- ment suspect that he had fallen a victim to the most devastating, most fatal disease known to mankind. One glimpse of Miss Woodstock had been sufficient to wreak this havoc upon him, yet not until later would he realize how sorely he was stricken. At that moment, anyhow, his brain ceased functioning entirely. From a vague shadow near the cottage, a bristling, ter- rifying monster had hurled itself. The thing came toward Teddy Armbister with vicious, horrible snarls. _There was no time for deliberation. In college, Teddy had been on the running team. He had been especially good at the hundred-yard dash, but it is doubtful if he ever covered that distance in his collegiate days as expeditiously as he covered it to- night. Some latent instinct, handed down to Teddy from an arboreal ancestor who had perhaps been pursued by a hungry saber- toothed tiger, came to his aid as the mon- ster charged. Teddy fairly flew across the clearing to the nearest tree. It was a sturdy grape- fruit tree. At least, it appeared to be a ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. grapefruit tree. tree. He leaped into its branches; pulled him- self out of harm’s way just as the savage beast leaped through the air. Its drooling jaws clamped like a bear-trap upon the trouser-cuff of Teddy’s disappearing left leg and came away with a square foot of panting. The rising moon afforded Teddy a better glimpse of the beast. It was leaping into the air with great lunges, falling back to the ground and leaping again, and filling the night with bloodthirsty snarls and barks. It was a huge, thoroughly savage mongrel dog. The kitchen door of the cottage opened and the slim figure of Miss Woodstock was silhouetted there. Under her arm she carried a double-barreled shotgun. In her other hand she held an electric torch. She flashed on the light and peered into the branches where Teddy Armnbister breathlessly clung. : “Cesar!” she called softly. The sav- age animal barked and leaped again. ‘“ What have you got up that tree, Czesar? Another skunk?” Teddy chuckled. After all, the situa- tion was not without humor—a young man calling upon a young lady and treed by her savage watchdog! ‘It’s only Armbister,”’ he called down. “Your next-door neighbor.” He chuckled again. “I just dropped in to say hello and T’ll tell the world you’re well protected! I guess you’d better chain him up.” Miss Woodstock did not reply at once. She walked leisurely from the doorway to a spot about twenty feet away from the tree and threw the beam of the torch into the branches. Teddy smiled good-naturedly into the dazzling spot of white light. ‘““ Are you armed?” she asked. ‘““Armed?” he cried. ‘Of course not! Why should I be armed?” ‘‘ Anybody who tries to shoot this dog,” she answered, “is going to have me to reckon with.” : ‘“T hadn’t the slightest intention of hurt- In any event,. it was a ing your dog,” said Teddy. “I simply dropped in for a little visit.” aS eS ee GOmicbooks.co