Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

568 spent most. of the night making plans for the weddiag?” ‘“ Well—not quite all of it,’ John con- fessed. “Just as well. The thing needn’t be rushed through, after all. You’re not sail- ing Saturday.” “Oh!” said Mr, Harley, with some gen- uine relief. “No, not till a week from Saturday, I think,” pursued Thurlow Wicks, rather marring the effect. “ That will give us more time all around. How about Wednesday next week for the wedding?”’ “Why, Wednesday’s a good day,” John murmured. “ Wednesday,” said, the other, and made a memorandum on a scratch-pad. ‘ We'll take to-morrow and the next day to go over the business I want you to attend to on the other side. Thrown up your job with Pot- ter, of course?” ‘““ No,” gasped Mr. Harley. “Hey? Why not?” ** Well, I—I’ve had that job a long time, and I-—really ’d like to hang on to it a while longer,” John said, and his throat erew dry.. “ Until everything is settled, I mean—maybe a year or two after that. -Then, it would inconvenience the firm a good deal if I left suddenly, because I’ve “organized my whole department—” “ Twaddle!’”? Mr. Wicks cried cheerily. “No man’s indispensable anywhere in business, Jack. ,You don’t need the pit- tance they’re paying you for salary.” “ No—no, of course not,” Mr. Harley said hastily. “ Well, why hang on to it, then?” Wicks demanded. ‘ What is it—matter of senti- ment?” “ That’s it, exactly! You see, I’ve been with Potter ever since I left college and— and, yes, I do feel a certain sentiment about it!” Mr. Wicks’s smile was almost. disgusted. “T give it up!” he muttered. “ Have to humor you for a while, I suppose, till you begin to feel yourself. Ill ask Potter to give you a two months’ leave of absence for your trip abroad. That won’t unduly _lacerate your tender feelings?” “Why—no,” John said thinly. ‘“ Only ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. don’t ask him for a few days, Mr. Wicks. He has a lot to fuss about this—er—week. Let it go until next week and—it might be better if I talked to him myself.” Thurlow Wicks sat back in his chair, ramming his hands into his trouser pockets, and considering his ostensible son-in-law- elect with a steady and rather contemptu- ous stare. Briefly, a thrill went through Mr. Harley. ‘The man suspected some- thing! ‘“ Jack!” snapped the man. ‘“ What’s the matter with you, anyway? You look, act and talk a damned sight more like a scared rabbit than you do like a man who has inherited a tremendous fortune and is about to marry a beautiful girl—if I say so myself—who’ll have another big fortune of her own in the course of time. Why the devil don’t you brace up and throw one leg over the other and laugh once in a while and utter an intelligent sentence?” There was nothing rhetorical about these questions; they were direct, and they de-| manded an answer. Mr. Harley breathed deeply. This might not be the most op- portune moment to lead up to his confes- sion, but it seemed to be the only one. For ten solid minutes he had been sinking deep- er and deeper. Abruptly he sat up. “IT suppose it’s the suddenness of the whole thing,” he said. ““T presume it is, but—” “You know, it’s hard to realize that it has happened,” John went on quickly. ‘“‘ Sometimes, this morning particularly, I’ve been wondering whether it’s all really so.” 4 What?” “And I’ve been wondering just what would happen if it wasn’t so, after all.” This, according to John’s rather clouded reasoning, was deft. Wicks, you see, would deliver himself of a few kindly platitudes on what would happen, and when they grew sufficiently kindly John would break the -news that none of the goed fortune was real; and immediately after that, when Wicks had cooled a trifle, he would bring his chair nearer to the desk, and in an easy, convincing, conversational style, would ex- plain everything. “What d’ye mean by that?’”’ Wicks de- manded. CORNICE KOOKS