Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

324 disposed as when the shop-bell clanged and she looked up at the unexpected spectacle of Grace arriving home in the middle of a working day. Pushing aside ‘the primitive ledger, she jumped up, aggressively anxious at once. ‘You ain’t sick, Grace? Don’t tell me you’re coming down with something!” Tor, in spite of the bravado she had shown at the Works, Grace Howland did took undeniably “ sick.” ‘“No, mum, there’s nothing the matter with me,” she said quietly, her voice sound- ing a little hollow. ‘“ Only I guess I’ve got to leave Tavenors’. Come into the kitchen. Ill tell you about it.” She passed through to the room at the back, and Mrs. Howland, anxiety turned to anger by one of those swift transitions understood only by the maternal mind, clat- tered close upon her heels like the tread of doom. ‘““What’ve you done now? What’s the latest? Out with it! Miss Tavenor said squire wouldn’t give you more’n another chance. What’ye you done now? As though I hadn’t worry enough—” “Oh, mum, I know! Honest, I haven’t done a thing. They raked up poor Sammy and made out ‘twas me that drove him: to hang hisself. Sir William had me on the carpet and says I must go. He offered two weeks’ wages—but I wouldn’t touch it. Not me! I told him to give it to Julia for a new hat.” ‘“* Julia’! How dare you be so disre- spectful to your betters! You—-you minx!” ‘“ Betters!’’ Grace laughed dreanly, and bent over the stove, where a pot of tea was kept perpetually on the stew. She poured herself a cup of the midnight brew and stirred In some sugar. ‘“ Mum, I do wish I could feel that Miss Tavenor was better than me. She’s got such a hard heart. I hate ‘ good ’ women.”’ ‘“So you're sacked! What vou goin’ to do now?” Mrs. Howland was in no mood to discuss social problems. ‘Sir William said Beltingham would be well rid of me—and I told him I'd be pleased to be rid of Beltingham.” ‘* More of your sauce!”’ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “What else could [ have said? Was I going to stand there and let him and that: daughter of his put it over me? Not much! And there was another, Captain Derrick’s wife—well, she didn’t look as if she hated me, but I’ll bet my socks Miss Julia doesn’t love her, either. She was trembling all over, and once we looked at each other. I. could've swom she wanted to say: ‘ Keep it up.’ Pretty young thing, mum, with yel- low hair and a smile like Mary Pickford’s.” “Yes,. it’s the ‘ pictures’ that’s done for you!”’ exclaimed Mrs. Howland. Her tem- per was under control now, but determined. “ The pictures ‘has made you romantic. No. doubt you think you’re as good as the’ queen. Well, God knows what you are, and all I can say is, I’m thankful -you’re no child of mine.” “Mum! You mean you don’t care what happens to me?”’ The girl’s delicate face became ashy as though a soft gray film had settled upon it. ‘No, I don’t mean that. It’s what I said. You’re no child of mine. I always knew that some day you’d have to be told. Often I said so to Howland, but the was dead set against it. We took you out of a foundling home when vou was just a mite of a baby—-” “ Mum! The crashing cry of despair caused Mrs. Howland’s flesh to prickle. She wished she hadn’t said it, would have given a great deal to take back ther words, but the thing | was out now. No use pretending that she ; had only said it for fun, or to throw a scare : into the unruly daughter. ‘You aren’t my mother at all. You—. you took me out of a home—you and dad— | and were good to me all these years. Mum, I can’t understand: I—I’m feeling queer all over.” She put a hand to her forehead, and Mrs. | Howland, rushing to the pot, shook up the. tea and strained off another poisonous draft. : “Ere, you drink this—it ‘I! help you. T didn’t mean to tell you, Grace, honest, I didn’t. But you’ve drove me to it. Some- times [ go crazy wondering what’s going to happen to you an’ ’ow I can stop it. If only you'd keep your eyes to yourself and walk : modest, the way I’ve triedte teach yon’):