Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 147: what you’re looking at

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

By RAYMOND S. SPEARS DON’T know ’f I eveh told you about Stepping May or not. She came down the river a while back in a clinker built skiff. She was so blamed pretty it was a wonder they ever let her come down the banks onto old Mississip’ at all; but theh she was, big as life—about five foot seven tall, and her lips straight and resentful, but her eyes twinkling. You see, a lady lots of times keeps her jaw set square when she’d rather be smiling two foot wide. Lots of men can’t let a lady grin without thinkin’ she’s soft on ’em. The first test I seen of Stepping May was along about Hickman, Kentucky, one of those mean, miserable days when the au- tumn northers begin to whisper an’ growl down out o’ the ice cap mountains. Hadn’t begun to rain yet, but hit was mean. I was into my green cabin boat which I bought off a feller who built it up the Al- leghany in N’York State to trip down to N’Orleans, but found the Ohio so big he neveh had the grit to see old Mississip’ at all. Theh I was, jes’ plumb comfy, an’ this blamed gal come along—pretty as a picture, an’ jes’ about as accommodating. She hearn my fiddle talking along, so she pulled up an’ hailed. I stepped out- side, not thinkin’ what I was doing, an’ course, the minute that wind hit my warm fiddle strings, snp! An’ I had two broken. “‘ Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said, the way a girl does when she knows what she’s talk- ing about. “I didn’t mean to do that!” She was cold, her cheeks red, an’ her hands reddish. You know how a man feels when he knows he ought to ask a lady something, but expects she'll sure miscue ‘im. I had a good cabin, warm, two chairs 937 ECOMIGD OOo! (©