Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

193 “Well, you got that,” he remarked, ‘Now what else?” At this point Marion decided that the majesty of the law, as personified in Mr. Elisha Dudberry, could never be intrusted with so delicate a mission as the quashing of the obnoxious Drayton. Once let such a matter fall into the knowledge of such a man as this, she reflected, and the village of Northover will laugh again. “T am staying at Northover, the big house,” she explained. ‘ We've taken it for the summer, you know.” “Young woman,” he remarked, impres- sively, “‘ the police department of this vil- lage knows of all newcomers, and keeps its eyes strictly open to all evidence. I know all about who’s at the big house this sum- mer, and it ain’t you. It’s a party named Haverhill.” | “Of course,” said Marion, and smiled upon him brilliantly. “ It’s because I know you have all the information about the vil- lage that I came here. I am Miss Averill’s companion. We have to have some car- pentry work done, and I have been told that a good man for the job is a fellow named Drayton. I thought you could tell me something about him. Is he trust- worthy?” Mr. Dudberry regarded her with gravity that was tempered with scorn. Why the scorn, Marion could not fathom; but there it was, all the same. ‘Of course he’s trustworthy,” exclaimed the majesty of the law. “ The trouble with you city folks is that you think every honest working man in the country isn’t good enough to do honest labor without he’s dishonest or something. George Drayton’s as honest a man as you or me. He does drink too much, and ain’t seldom but hard- ly sober, and they do say that for a young pair so recent coupled up, he treats his wife cruel—”’ ‘““He’s married?” cried Marion. “{ should hope he’s married!” replied Mr. Dudberry sternly. ‘‘ We don’t allow no such goin’s on down here to Northover, no sir!” “Thank you,” then said Marion. “TI just wanted to know about him. I’m sure if you recommend him, he must be more ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. than perfect. If we decide to have the work done, I’ll let Mr. Drayton know. All right, Brent.” Brent whisked the car away, and they left Mr. Dudberry to munch upon the sur- prise that Marion had shown at the fact of Drayton’s marriage. Mr. Dudberry could bring the evidence to only one con- clusion. ‘““ Dad-rat it!” he chuckled. ‘ If George Drayton ain’t the devil with the women. An’ a high up girl like her, too! It beats all!” While Mr. Dudberry indulged in these reflections Brent drove so swiftly, noiseless- ly, and artfully through the village that no fewer than seven inhabitants had the nar- rowest escape of their lives without even the thrill of knowing they had been in danger. Brent’s eighth encounter, how- ever, was not blind to the benefits of fate. He was a tall young man of infinitely slender figure who was crossing Main Street with a suit case. Brent missed the young man, but he hit the suit case. It was a flimsy suit case, and it is probable that it was burst open at the first blow of the great car’s fender; anyway, it was without doubt wide open when it landed upon Brent’s head, because Brent was as completely ex- tinguished by it as he would have been extinguished by an inverted packing case. And about his shoulders were draped arti- cles of male apparel which are seldom men- tioned in polite society, but often displayed in advertisements. Brent swore muffled oaths and brought the car to halt just before it hit the window of Terwilliger’s drug store. “My suit case, I believe?” said the young man politely as he mounted to the running board and took the article off Brent’s head. “Why can’t you look where you’re going?” mumbled the outraged chauffeur, spitting out collars. “ Douglas Gilfillan!” cried Marion. “What in the world are you doing here?” “Counting my laundry,” explained the cheerful Mr. Gilfillan, recovering his scat- tered belongings. He addressed himself to Brent. ‘I was going to speak to Miss Ray,” he explained. CORMICGLOOOKS (E@)