Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

888 keep them as souvenirs of this wonderful day. Isn’t it a wonderful day, Betty? Say it is—”’ “ Wonderful!” I said. He put one arm through mine, and with the other he made a gesture down the val- ley. - Down there are the plains, Betty,” he said. ‘“ Turin—Milan. Twelve hours take you to my country. Oh, Betty, how easy to leave everything behind us—to get into the car and drive on and on and on! How simple! Just you and I—alone together. Why don’t we do it, Betty?” “ Because you are a king,” I answered. “But I am a man, too, Betty. Have you got a father, mother—people—anybody to consult?” “No one,” I said. “ I am all alone.” “ We could be happy—in a world of our own.” His arm tightened on mine. ‘“ Why don’t we do it, Betty? Why don’t we?” I couldn’t speak. I was seeing a vision of what it would be like—heaven. Peter and I all alone, nothing between us, no mountain of money, no bogy of a throne. He released my arm. His voice fell dis- consolately on my ears. “No good, Betty girl. We aren’t going to do it. I may bea fool. I think I am; but I can’t ruin your life for you.” My heart glowed. Those words and his bright, burning blue eyes made me think that my task must be nearing its achieve- ment. If he really loved Betty Fane like that, could he be angry with her, even when she turned out to be Elizabeth Cleveland? I was dying to tell him then, to pull off my wig, to throw myself in his arms. Something held me back. I couldn’t say what. If I had—if only I had—how differ- ent everything might have been! How much misery I might have spared myself— and him! “We must be going back,” he said. He looked at his watch, then at the sky. ‘“‘ Goodness, but we’ve got no time to lose! D’you know it will be dark before long? I shall be late. I must drive like the deuce, Betty girl.” We hurried back, got into the car, and drove back up the pass. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. We were through the tunnel and down the precipitous road on the other side before it really grew dark. On the northern side of the mountains the snow seemed to hold the daylight and make it last much longer. The king drove as fast as he could on those tricky roads. Then we had to stop because suddenly the electric lamps gave out, and Peter said he must light the oil ones that he carried in reserve. “ This ts going to keep us back,” he mut- tered angrily. ‘‘ I don’t see how we can do it. I ought to be in Cannes by eight, dressed for dinner—and it’s long past six now. I’m dining with my godfather, the King of Ma- ronia. He is rather a peevish old’bird, what with his bad health. There’ll be a hell of a rew!”’- “IT have an appointment, too,” I said, rather absently, I think. Somehow the im- age of jolly, red-haired, freckled George of Hillenland seemed very far away. The king laughed. “But it can’t be so important as mine! That’s what’s so splendid for you, Betty girl. You can’t have these troublesome duty visits and all that in your jolly, simple little life.” T laughed, too. It sounded rather hollow. King Peter’s voice changed. “Is your appointment with the man who gave you the pearls?” he asked. “ How I loathe that man!” ‘’ He is dead,” I said. “I can’t help that. There’ll be another. Oh, Betty, forgive me for being a brute! But I’m so miserable—I feel all out of tune. Here, let us light these rotten lamps and then we'll run back to real life and only remember what a lovely day we’ve had.” It was quite dark by now. The weather was changing. Great clouds were rolling up from the east; a sharp wind was blowing. I shivered a little. The king struck several matches that went out. I couldn’t see what he was doing. Then, suddenly, he gave a sharp cry——it sounded like one of sheer surprise. And he disappeared. I sat rooted to the spot for a moment. I was startled out of my wits. COMIGD OOo! (©