Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

266 up. The seconds were flying. Assem- bly was due to be blown any instant. Still, Jack ‘delayed, the paper in his hand. He read: Miss Marcy GILMORE 15907 Park Avenue New York. The address was written in Bill’s clear, heavy hand. Slowly, the paper fluttered from Jack’s fingers. When he rushed into the line of file closers of his company, which was formed in the wide area, he found that he had already been reported absent from breakfast formation. At breakfast, Bill and Jack were un- usually silent. — : Bill, being the senior in rank, was seated at the head of the table. On his left sat Jack. Across from Jack, on Bill’s right, sat another first class- man. ‘The rest of the cadets were ar- ranged in order of rank. Next to the first classmen were seated the second classmen. Still lower down sat the yearlings. And, at the lowest and lowliest of places were the plebes, very stiff and straight in their chairs, daring not‘to speak or move except when necessary. Table talk was slow until the first classman across from fack remem- bered the hop of the evening before. A fire of razz and laughter was di- rected at the woman haters from every upper classman at the table. Even the plebes risked a few smiles. Bill and Jack sank deeper into their chairs. They had fallen from their pedestals. They were idols with feet of most ordinary clay. Yet, according to the upper classmen, all would not have been so bad if only they had not committed that most heinous crime of stealing another man’s girl. Jack’s freckled face took on a hue which matched his red hair. Bill was silent, morose, smiling only enough to keep up his reputation as a good sport. After breakfast, they were glad to ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, get back to their room. It seemed as if the whole Corps of Cadets had heard of their fall from grace. Every one they had met that morning had asked them about the “ little vamp with the red hair.’ Some, indeed, had had the effrontery to demand when they were going to have her up to West Point again. “Say, Jack, what are you going to de to-day?” asked Bill, in the safety of their room. The reply was made in studious care- lessness. | “Oh, I guess I’ll write a letter or two before I do anything else.” Bill swung his leg nervously back and forth as he sat on the edge of his green-topped desk. It was unusual for the energetic Jack to sit indoors and write letters on a bright sunny morn- ing. Bill did not approve. Besides, he wanted to write letters himself. In fact, a letter to a particular person named—Margy. And, it wouldn't do act all for Jack to have the slightest sus- picion that such a letter was being written. . At the same time, Jack was wishing that Bill himself would go off for a walk some place. There was an im- portant letter to be written. He had promised her— But Bill seemed to have no inclina- tion to go for a walk, so Jack started in to write: West Point, N. Y., Nov 30, 19—. Drar Marcy— He stopped to consider for awhile. The end of his pen was in his mouth. Would he dare to pour out his soul to her? Did she like romance and love? Or would she think him a darned fool? It was hard to be romantic with Bill sitting there across from him. He began again. He decided that romance was best. I approach this letter trembling at the thoughts of you like a horse trem- bles at the touch of his master’s hand. Gomichooks (E)