Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

936 the buckle of his Sam Browne belt in a final flick and eyed the effect critically. The belt itself shone dark, glossily russet as only cordovan can. The buckle had the proper dull gold gleam. His boots reflected the electric light like two tall dark mirrors. Hjs uniform was newly cleaned and pressed, but he sniffed it anxiously. There was a slight lingering hint of gasoline about it He effaced the odor with a well known preparation which is supposed to kill ev- erything from onions to dandruff. Across the hall, through the open door, he glimpsed the slim but slightly mature figure of “ Red” Paige who had been a first classman at the Point when Jim was a plebe and had often “ heaved ”’ Jim’s neck back. Jim had been slightly bitter at the time, but now he liked Red. He was a darn good fellow out in the army. Red was in the act of getting a half Nelson on the elusive bow-tie to his new Tuxedo that he was going to try out on an engagement in town that evening. ‘“‘ The man that invented bow-ties,” phil- osophized Red amiably, ‘‘ should have been hung with ’em, Pickering.” “Vou’re right, Red,’ agreed Jim. “ That’s why I’m wearing a uniform.” “ Bet you’re going to the colonel’s for dinner,” surmised Red carelessly, studying himself in the mirror. Jim flushed. He hadn’t meant to tell the boys about the colonel’s invitation. He didn’t think it would be tactful. They might think he was trying to high- hat them of that the colonel was playing favorites. ‘““Why?” asked Jim, startled. customary ?”’ Red Jaughed a trifle shortly and said no more than, ‘“ Oh, no—not exactly,” picked up his hat, a dark overcoat and turned out his light. ‘“ Good night, Pick!” he called, as an afterthought, from the first landing. “Have a nice time.” There was something about his tones that Jim didn’t exactly like, but he forgot about both Red and his puzzling innuendoes in the excitement of his first official dinner. How was one expected to address one’s colo- nel in the intimacy of his private dining ‘-{s- it ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. room? Should one be talkative, gay, non- chalant, or grave, silent, respectful? The problem automatically solved itself. The colonel greeted him with, “ Oh, good evening, Pickering. Come in,” made a few desultory remarks anent the slipperiness of the veal roast at dinner, and afterward took to a volume on military history in a remote corner of the living room. It was Mrs. Blodgett who kept the con- versational ball revolving, with occasional interspersions from her daughter Daphne, the girl Pickering had glimpsed in the hall the evening before. Daphne was about twenty, blondly pret- ty in a careful way, with veiledly eager blue eyes which she was accustomed to drop modestly at her mother’s fond allusions to her youth, cleverness, good looks and pop- ularity. Jim listened with polite attention to ev- erything Mrs. Blodgett had to say—how the army was going to the dogs, how even colonels could no longer afford fresh fruit, much less real cream, for breakfast—how worried she, Mrs. Blodgett, was at having Daphne here on the post where there were so many attractive young bachelors—and how much Daphne enjoyed going horseback riding if she had some one competent with her who really knew horses. Mr. Pickering must have had marvelous experience with horses at West Point, but then, they taught young men everything there. You had to be terribly clever to graduate at all. Many didn’t. Edgar Allan Poe, for instance, though, of course, he was clever enough in his way. Jim enjoyed the dinner immensely. He liked the roast with its thick brown gravy, the creamy mashed potatoes, the stuffed to- matoes like his mother used to bake, the rich butterscotch meringue pie. He liked Mrs. Blodgett, too, though she seemed a little intense about everything, and he thought Daphne quite pretty. It was the first home dinner he had had in a long while, since he had left his own mother’s plain but toothsome table, and it was the first homey evening he had spent in weeks in a room with a piano in it and a fireplace and cozy reading lamps scattered about. Gomichbooks (E(0)