Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

BUSTER. used an apron. My dainty frock looked as if it had been illustrated by Tony Sarg, in silhouette. Buster was certainly making his mark in the world. . Holding him firmly by the head and trying to keep him from standing up, I had to content myself with dousing one- third of the now cooled water down his back and two-thirds down my front. But I soaped him thoroughly with my own facial soap, rinsed him like a good housekeeper does spinach, and dried him in my best bath towel, adding a final chic touch of violet toilet water. Roy would have no complaints to make. Dear Roy! I would try to be a good wife to him. I even rushed down to the corner butcher shop and spent my movie money for the week on a real club steak, the kind he loved. I also spent an hour and a half over the kitchen stove, grilling that steak just the way he liked it, while the pup began to look interested for the first time since Roy left. Prompt at five forty-five come the trium- phant toot of my hubby’s home coming. At the time I was engaged in inserting my head and shoulders into the lower oven to see how the steak was, and so heard, rather than saw, the eager canine streak that flashed from beneath the kitchen table to the screen door, yelping in senseless joy, like Tarzan after the kill. The pup had took it on himself to form a committee of one to welcome my hus- band, not that I cared any. I heard Roy’s smothered exclamation of surprise and delight, the soft scratching of his fingers on the dog’s neck. I could al- most hear the mutt writhe with ecstasy. I withdrew my map from the hot oven and held my cheek for: Roy’s kiss as he come through the pantry door with the pup under one arm and the evening paper under the other. But instead of a sweet, warm osculation from my husband I re- ceived a wet, long lick from Buster. Roy had put im up to my face instead. That’s a man’s idea of a good joke. Something inside me seethed. “Did you see the way that little tike rushed out to meet me?” chuckled Roy, ruffing the back of his playmate’s neck. 509 “Looks as though he wanted me to come home, almost, don’t it?” “It’s a good thing somebody wants you,” I muttered. ‘Did he have his bath?” went on Roy, undisturbed by my accents. ‘““Oh, yes,” I simpered sweetly. ‘“ He had his nice bath, all right. With little wifie’s best facial soap and towel and violet water. The best is none too good for your friends, I’m sure.” “Good Lord,” scowled Roy, sniffing the pup. “Is that awful smell coming from him? I thought it was you I whiffed. Per- fume? Good night!” “Oh, no,” chortled I, really angry. “ It’s not me you whiff. J can only afford to use that high priced stuff on Christmas and birthdays. J ain’t no pampered pet.” “Have you got a headache, dear, or something?” inquired Roy, gentle. “Why?” I glowered. “You seem a little snappy to-night.” ‘“‘So’s cheese,” I muttered. ‘“ But that don’t keep some people from liking it.” “Why, I like you, dear,” said Roy, sweetly, and patted me, absent-minded, on the back. I almost melted. If he had kissed me I would have. Gay again, I put the din- ner on the table and set the steak in front of Roy with pride: Now to await his out- burst of pleasure. None come. Roy was looking down at Buster, parked by his chair and wearing a hopeful expres- sion. He deliberately cut a piece of that high priced steak and dangled it in mid- air. The pup gulped, hardly believing his eyes. ‘“‘Speak for it, ‘“ Speak, sir.” Buster yawned, still eying the meat as. though it was hypnotizing him. “ Speak!”? commanded Roy, more stern- “Bark for it, boy.” The mutt give a sudden savage leap, but Roy jerked the meat from his jaws and dangled it still higher. “Say bow wow, feller. Speak for it.” The dog finally made a thin squeak down at the back of his throat that you could hardly hear. boy,” ordered Roy, ly. Gomichbooks (E@)