Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

See el * a" Vay a Pere eee eS rte Voces tr 246 pearls for which the mysterious lady of Park Avenue put in a claim against the burglar insurance company. As nearly as I could make out without getting personally acquainted, her eyes were dark blue, with more than the usual allow- ance of lashes. Her hair was brown and curled in little ringlets around her fore- head. It restored one’s faith in girl nature to see one who did not have bobbed hair, wore no earrings, and whose pose did not suggest a carefully cultivated curvature of the spine. I do not exaggerate a particle when I say that her picture, just as I saw her there, on a magazine cover, would have boosted the circulation fifty thousand copies. I had come upon this vision suddenly as I entered through the arch from another gallery, and I imagine that I must have stared at her quite a while—though it did not seem long to me—before I realized that she had good cause for thinking me an ill-mannered cub; but there was no danger; she never saw me; never knew I was on earth. Her thoughts were following her eyes, and her eyes were gazing enrapt on the painting before her. If a girl ever looked at me with her expression as she looked at that picture, I would feel that life was worth living, even if I had been reading Chub Burton’s poetry. When by a mighty effort of will power I stopped staring at her, I glanced at the painting that was inspiring the look of adoration in those wonderful eyes. It was a portrait, the portrait of a man, and al- though I hated the sight of him, I was compelled to admit that he was handsomer than any man has a right to be. I confessed to myself that he was a magnificent looking chap. It was an unconventional portrait, for he wore what appeared to be the upper section of a bathing suit and limited white nether garments; some sort of rowing togs ap- parently. Evidently he was an athlete and a good one. His arms were like Carpen- tier’s, splendidly developed, but sleek and smooth, without the knots and lumps that make so many heavyweights look muscle- bound. It always gave me a pain to hear a girl I knew raving about a fellow who she *said looked “like a Greek God;” but there ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. was something about this chap in the pic- ture that suggested some of those old statues. I have often wondered if there ever was a time when people looked like those Apollos.and Dianas instead of being like the types you see nowadays. Glad that the beautiful vision had re- mained oblivious to my presence, I re- luctantly started to make a tour of the room, though the charms of nature had seriously impaired my interest in the works of art. As I passed her, she happened to drop her catalogue. I picked it up, re- turned it to her, and she thanked me. [I noticed the number on the portrait which seemed to her the only picture in the room that was worth looking at. Then If went and bought a catalogue and turned to number 157. There I read: Portrait of the Artist. Seumas Shayne. CHAPTER XI. DANGER! OT infrequently a man sees a girl who N he thinks would be just the wife for him, and cases have been known in which men have backed their judgment and proved that they were fairly good guessers; but the perfect beauty is about as rarely seen as the comet that calls on us once in a hundred years. On two or three occasions in a lifetime one encounters a being of such transcendent loveliness that it would be presumptuots for an ordinary mortal to do more than wonder and admire, without a profane thought of love or matrimony. No moth would have the audacity to flutter around a star so glorious. In case this poetic allusion seems a little vague, what I mean to say is that there are plenty of nice attractive girls, to whom one might sug- gest two rooms, bath, and kitchenette; but one would hesitate to mention such things to a Lady Clara Vere de Vere who looks as every princess would if she could have her own way and say about it. I mention this merely that it may be perfectly understood that there was no love-at-first-sight nonsense mingled with my admiration for the girl in the art gallery, EOPMIG OOO KS (E@)