Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

THE COLLISION. Marion eyed him warily. “Ts that why you’re here?” she asked. “ That,” explained Mr. Gilfillan, “ is why IT am here.” Brent swung his car about and faced the road again. “Did I hear you ask me to drive with you?” asked the young man. “No, you didn’t, but if you listen care- fully you might gather that I wish you’d either get off that running board or come inside. You make me nervous.” He stepped in and sat beside her. ““ Which is a confession that I was right,” he remarked as he sank into the soft leather cushions. She looked at him sharply. “Oh, and how is that?” “You will perhaps find it difficult to recall the last conversation we had—al- though I shall never forget it. Do you?” “ No.” “You don’t forget it?” “I don’t recall it.” “ Then let me remind you. I explained at that time that I should some day make my fortune out of the ideas with which I am gifted and my immortal pen. You were not optimistic about it. You said that I could never achieve the impossible. You have just confessed that you were wrong.” “What logic!” she murmured. this must be Aristotle himself.” “No, Gilfillan,” he protested modestly. “The Greek strain in our blood was lost some years ago. But you digress. I just pointed out, you will remember that you were wrong.” “ Very well, I bite. How was I wrong?” “You admitted that I made you nervous. In short, that I achieved the impossible.” “Tf you can convince me of that,” re- marked Marion, “ you will have done it again.” “No,” he said. “TI’ll rest on my vic- tory. It is enough for me to know that a regard for my welfare can make you ner- vous.”’ ‘“Oh, I wasn’t nervous about you,” she explained brightly. “I couldn’t bear the thought of any more accidents. Which re- minds me that I’m glad you came.” “ Surely 3 ge 2 Spee ae Sa Se pe SP gS arts al as oe . a> 199 “‘ Aha—she softens He brightened up. at last—” “Don’t give me the attributes of your own brain,” she protested. “I’m glad to see you, because I was about to hire a night watchman, and I think you'll fill the bill. Have you had any experience?” He affected the most doleful sigh he could command. ‘* Experience?” he cried. ‘ And you can ask me that? How many nights have I watched until the last man had departed from No. 82 East Sixty-Eighth Street, so that I might hear again from those sweet lips that: ‘It’s absolutely no use, Doug; when I marry it’s going to be a man with two feet on the good old earth and an ele- mentary knowledge of single entry book- keeping. Poetry and the silver laces of the moon may be all right for nymphs or fairy princesses, but I don’t figure in the society columns of either set mentioned. In my set little reminders are mailed to you every month, and a discount is made for cash.’ All that sordid sort of thing. And you ask me if I’ve had experience as a night watchman! I’ve watched your two little red lips say those words so often that next time I can’t meet my rent I shall make something on the side as a lip reader.” “When you’ve finished making an exhi- bition of yourself—” she suggested. ‘“ All right. Just one word from you, and T’ll be good as gold.” She shook her head. “Go on and say it,” she urged. “ Will I marry you? No. I like you as well as any man I’ve ever met, Doug, but you can’t—”? ‘ Live on love. 1 know—I’ve heard those words before.” He took her slim little fore- arm in one earnest hand and spoke with renewed warmth. ‘“ That’s enough for to- day,” he said. “I have made it a point never to ask you to marry me more than once a day. Then you can’t say no twice. But it will come off, some day, Marion. Some day something will bring this matter. to a head. Some. day you will say yes.” “Oh, give up this foolish idea of writ- ing, Doug!” she cried impulsively. ‘You were speaking of a job. You want- ed a night watchman.” (E(0) vOoOK (E@)