Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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

560 beauty rules drumming through her thoughts. ‘“‘ Always avoid the sense of hurry. It gives the face a strained, aging look.” Annette shrugged and ran on with reckless speed. She was beginning to be actually worried about Benjie, and the beauty rule seemed a foolish, heart- less thing to”pop into her head just then. : , “ But of course madame’s stuff does a lot of good,” she reflected. ““ Women get hold of themselves and learn not to fret and nag their families. It helps the wives to hang on to their-husbands all right, too. So it’s not so bad. It’s —it’s just a good deal like doctors’ work,” she added defensively, thinking of Jerry and his probable sense of su- periority. ~~ The telephone boy rang Miss Benja- min’s apartment violently, but got no answer. “Don’t guess she’s in,” he decided. “ Well, take me up anyway, please,” said Annette. “I’d like to leave this fruit for her. I can put it with a note outside her door.” So the elevator whisked her up to the top floor. She tried the hall door and found the lock off. “Don’t wait. Pll go on in,” she told the bov. ‘‘ She must have just stepped out for a minute. “Hello, Benjie!’ she called as she went into the narrow, dark hallway. A light burned in the dining room. ‘As she put her bag of fruit on the ta- ble Annette noticed the disorder of the room. Dirty dishes, cluttered chairs, a mess of papers. Not at all like the neat and painstaking Miss Benjamin. “Hello, Benjie!” she called again. As she glanced at the scattered pa- pers and letters on the table, she caught sight of a note with her own name on it, grabbed up the envelope and tore it open with shaking fingers, It was a good-by note. Something about there being nothing to look for- ward to. “ Lonely—tired—nothing to ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. live for—”- The writing straggled off almost illegibly. ‘ Benjie!’ screamed Annette, and ran into the tiny bedroom. The woman lay white and still on the rumpled bed. Annette touched her forehead and found it warm. She clutched the slim wrists and felt a faint pulse. “ Benjie, how could you?” she cried. She dashed into the bathroom for a wet towel, changed her mind and ran to the telephone instead. Dr. Whar- ton would probably be gone, but she’d try his office. She tore through the telephone book for the number. While the boy was calling that she noted the doctor’s resi- dence phone, scribbling it on a pad that lay there. , “Yes, the doctor is in, but he’s just leaving,” the office girl told her. “Don’t let him leave,” ordered An- nette. “ Tell him to come to Miss Ben- jamin’s apartment right away as soon as he can get here, It’s very serious— a matter of life and death! You tell him that, and I'll give you the number in a minute.” She couldn’t recall the house number just then, and she called the boy for it. But he was gone now, running the ele- vator, She ran to.the dining room, found an old envelope addressed to Miss Edna Benjamin, and gave the number to the doctor’s office girl. “She’s taken. something—veronal, possibly,” she added. “ She’s uncon- scious.” f “He'll be right up,” the girl told er. Annette ran back to the bedroom. It would take the doctor some time, she reflected. Uptown traffic was heavy at this hour. She ought to have called a man who was nearer, she told herself, trying frantically to think what she should do first. But she’d have to get that boy again. She didn’t know any doctors near. She dashed back to the oj ee (C@) S MICLOOO (C@