Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 171: what you’re looking at

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

- ~ «6 —-+ — . ” ie - re mn U BING, BANG, BOOM! for so, an’ in two weeks I’d git it back— plus. “Ever visited any o’ the springs around this ‘part o’ the country, son?” Bert shook his head. ‘‘ Since I came here, I haven’t had time to visit springs.” “ This State’s full of ’em,” said David. “‘ There’s springs that ‘re 30 hot that they jest dile the ailments out’n you, an’ springs that ‘re so cold they jest freeze ’em out. jest dile the ailments out’n you, an’ springs fer gout, an’ springs fer dyspepsia, an’ springs fer every other dum thing you kin think of.” He paused. “ You didn’t fix up the back part o’.the Majestic, did you, gon?” “ The back part? What do you mean?” “The grounds in the back,” David ex- “No; I didn’t get to that,” Bert replied. fast growing wild that way. All I intended doing was to fix up the paths a bit, and lay out a couple of tennis-courts.”’ ““They’re beautiful grounds, all right,” agreed David, “ jest as they -are. I used to be gardener there a long time ago, as you must ’a’ heard, an’ I. know every foot © the ground. One spot in particilar I kinder had a fondness fer. ”Tain’t much to look at, I reckon, what with them dead tree- trunks a-layin’ there, an’ dead branches piled up. . But ever since that mornin’, eight or ten year ago, when I fust come on that there spot, suddenlike, I kinder liked it. ‘‘ Every chance I’d git away from work, ‘I’d make fer the northeast corner 0’ the grounds, passin’ the leetle rustic summer- house, an’ then turnin’ to the left till I come to that big maple with the funny, twisted braach. I. used to love to lie under that there tree, listenin’ to the water bubblin’ jest to the right o’ me. My secret spot, I used to call it—not carm’ fer anybuddy ta know what a nice place it was.” He paused and rose slowly to his feet, stretching himself. ‘“ I won’t keep you no Jonger, son. Reckon it must be nigh onto five o’clock, an’ you'll be wantin’ to take a leetle drive b’fore supper time. Can’t blame you fer preferrin’ it to listenin’ to me. Come in an’ see me again, some time.” Bert rose, teo, and stood, hesitant, wateh- ing David as he disappeared into an inner 11 A , ity—even so, in this un found Fortune at his 137 room. He knew that David’s message had been given; that David, despite the ent triteness of his remarks, considered it information of the greatest importance. But what had David told him? In what way could those seemingly unrelated stories be pieced together to solve the problem of. the Majestic’s revival? Of one thing only was Bert certain. David wanted him to drive out to the hotel, to find out a rustic summer-house in the rear of the building, to turn, then, to the left, until he came upon a big maple with strangely ‘gnarled branches. As he left the station, he called “ Good- by, David;” but there came no answer. David, perched on the higir stool before the telegraph desk, had returned to the inter- ‘rupted nrurder scene of Macbetii. “‘ I wasn’t going to fix it up much. It’s nicer — CHAPTER XXIII. THE “ ATTRACTION.”’ |’ is as often in the byways as on the highways of life that men find fortune strolling alone and willing to be courted. The plodder, wearied by a day at routine toil, seeks to forget the tribute of drudgery that the morrow will demand by working for an hour on an idea. | And, lo! The idea of fortune, waiting for him there in the by-path. The pros- -pector, his body arch-bent with years over pick and shovel, his face haggard with dis- Ulusionment, the taste of life to him. like sand between the teeth, turns from his werthless claim at last, and finds gold at a he sought to die.” Even so, Bert, breaking his way through the tangled undergrowth of the two acres of woodland that lay in the rear of the Majestic, finding out the little rustic sum- mer-house that seemed a very part of \the tanglewood, pausing at last beneath a maple tree, one great bow of which was gnarled and knotted and barren in its dead deform- ted spot Bert e, smiling upon him with a smile that was literally golden. When he reached the tree that was, un- mistakably, the object of his quest, he the bed of the rushing stream in which mG (C(O) 6)(0)O) S (C(O)