Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

THE RESPECTABLE MANIACS, least,” she told him, with affected po- liteness. “I’m sure I don’t care whether she is from—from China.” “She was standin’ at the station, She’s just visitin’ the Archers. I came along and offered her the umbrella. Gee, Vi, you shouldn’t get sore. You don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to fall for some flapper or—” “Well, I like that!” gasped Viola. “Asif J care! Honest, Albert Wade, you flatter yourself.” Til. THE next morning Viola was in the middle of a Saturday morning rush of house cleaning. Every room was up- set. ‘The dishes seemed to have piled up to twice their ordinary amount. The beds were unmade, linens were heaped on the bedroom floor, and the pillows were uncased. The carpets were rolled up, the broom standing against the wall in the hall, and the vacuum cleaner lay on the floor in the frontroom. | All the curtains on the windows were tucked up out of the way. Rub- bish was stacked in a cardboard gro- cery box in the hall. And Viola, with a towel around her head, her eyes and nose full of dust, her hands grimy from a long morning of dusting, cleaning and washing, was just about to sit down for a few min- utes’ rest, when the doorbell rang. She looked with dismay down at her faded, soiled bungalow apron, and at her hands... But there was no time to primp up. Yet, as she went to the door, she unconsciously touched her fingers to her head, as if to arrange her hair—but her hair was entirely hidden by the towel. She opened the door and inhaled narcissus perfume. ‘That girl stood there. The nerve of her! For a brief moment, Viola surveyed her caller. The black silk dress, tight sleeves, the flare bottom of the dress, gunmetal stockings and high French 30 heels—these items registered swiftly in her mind. But what caught her attention most was the girl’s face. She was seeing her close up now for the first time. This vision was a blonde, with a boyish bob. <A crescent of hair curled piquantly on either side. Her lips were vivid and red, her eyebrows shaped and plucked. Her eyes were velvety and of the Let’s neck” variety. Mascara lashes helped the effect. The girl certainly knew how to use cosmetics. While Viola was glancing at the smoked-pearl choker, which was fas- tened about the girl’s neck, she became conscious that this amazing visitor was studying her, Viola, in turn, with a different kind of astonishment, as if to say: “ My Lord, is this his wife?” Then Viola grew acutely aware of the difference between them. She, Viola, was all mussed up with house- work, and this lady fair, with the smart bob and zippy gown, looked as if she had just stepped out of a motion picture. | If there is anything in the vibration theory, ‘the electrons between them must have been cutting up some awful didoes. Very likely only a few seconds had passed since Viola had opened the door, just enough time for both young ladies to raise and lower their eyes in swift appraisal, but those brief seconds were surcharged with meaning for Viola. In reality, she was only registering the idea that this girl was about to mean something important in the life of Albert and herself. “ Oh—why, how do you do?” the girl simpered. “ J—I—uh—is Albert in?” Viola’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened—just a little. ‘The hair at the back of her neck prickled, and seemed to draw her head back, but in- side she raged. But she twisted a side of her lips EOPMIC OOO KS (E@)