Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

204 ~ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “You have been misinformed.” “Alicia dear, let us be sensible about this. Ill grant you that the cold common sense, the eagle eye, and the shrewd guess are not to be compared with the ultimate romance as far as heart throbs are con- cerned. But this is a grave matter. I tell you seriously, Alicia, that for your sake I have inquired about our George, and I find that he is a married man. They do say that he drinks too much, and don’t treat his wife well at all. That’s the honest truth, Alicia.” Despite the crisp drollery which she could not divorce from her conversation, Marion found herself urging this upon Alicia with a deep and vital earnest- ness. Alicia gazed with her serene blue eyes at her companion in some astonish- ment, but she was not convinced. _ “Tt is good of you to think of my wel- fare, Marion dear,” she said calmly. ‘“ But you are misinformed.” It was Marion’s turn to be astonished. “ Alicia!” she cried. ‘“ You don’t be- lieve it?” Alicia arose from the table. ‘“T don’t believe it,’ she answered with a quiet smile. ‘‘ See that I am told when he comes, won’t you, Marion dear?” Marion let her go from the room. “Tf he gets in the house, I will,” she breathed to herself, and sought the outdoors and Douglas Gilfillan. Gilfillan had failed to see her that af- ternoon because he had become involved in the affairs of Cowper. Cowper had done the involving. He had waylaid Gilfillan between the garage and the sunken garden, and had recited to him with elaborate de- tail the events of the last hundred days that preceded the demise of a Mrs. Cowper, who hadn’t been able to bear the rude trans- plantation from a perfect paradise which Cowper called Hingland, to the United States, which Gilfillan gathered were not all they might have been. Gilfillan, all sympathy, listened as a trapped animal might have listened to a songful trapper, and said “ Yes, to be sure,” at stated intervals. “You wouldn’t ’ardly believe it, but not one of the family even so much as followed ’er coffin, and we’d been workin’ for them seven years,” concluded Cowper bitterly. ‘‘ That’s yer Hamerican millionaire for yer. I might ’ave been a dog—less than that—a bloomin’ vermint I might of been.” “Yes, to be sure,” assented Gilfillan, and taking advantage of Cowper’s hurt amaze- ment he had resumed his attempt to find Marion, all too late. He had eaten with the Averill servants in a state which was made the more solemn by virtue of an an- tipathy which seemed to have sprung up be- tween the butler and the newcomer—an an- tipathy which increased to a point which merged the butler into a silence no one dared to break when Gilfillan lightly asked Cowper if he ever went in bathing. After dinner Gilfillan had smoked his pipe in the kitchen garden until Cowper came formally to apprise him that the time had arrived to take his post. He then walked to the front of the house, and in obedience to a preconcerted plan took his place among the trees and shrubs which hedged the lawns from the drive just below the front porch. From this patrol he could command any approach up the driveway or across the lawn. It was very strategic. Marion, seeking him in this miniature jungle, found herself swallowed by a dark- ness that she had not suspected to exist so near the house, and for a moment felt as though she was deep in a primitive forest, hundreds of miles from human habitation. She beat about the bushes which surround- ed her, and broke out into a little open space where a grove of balsam seemed to frown upon her; she darted from this into a thicket of lighter tinted growth which wel- comed her with their suggestion of light. Then she saw the dark form of a man loom up close to her, and involuntarily started away. She caught her foot in a tenuous branch and was flung forward. She would have sprawled, but a strong arm caught her, jerked her to her feet, and held her tight. “Easy on the high dive,” said a voice. “Tt’s too shallow.” It was Douglas Gilfillan. “Oh, it’s you!” she said, catching her breath. “Yes. I wanted to speak to you about my wages. We said nothing about that, you know.” Go .OOK (E@