Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

282 jar into his coffee cup with horrid results. ‘‘'Why—no!”’ he blustered, very red in the face. ‘‘ Everything’s lovely—Sheila’s fine!” ‘I’m glad to hear it,” said his grand- mother placidly, ‘I had such a dreadful dream about her last night. I dreamed she was dying, and sent for me.” Taffy turned pale. Sheila dying! How could grandmother say it so calmly? All day long the vision persisted—a wan, frail Sheila stretching out a wasted and for- giving hand across a white counterpane. ‘Wake up!” said Stockton. “ I’ve been doing arithmetic for an hour. I asked you if you’d come across with about two hun- dred to-morrow. And do you know what you said? You said, ‘ Yes, dear ’!” Taffy flushed scarlet. But that night he sheepishly entered the ‘‘ Dead Polliwog ”’ and gave a furtive glance at the back table. Sure enough, there was Sheila’s dazzling red head—and leaning close to it, in hateful proximity, was Orloff’s oily black one. That Russian writing chap! Taffy almost upset a fat waiter with a soup tureen in his effort to make a speedy and inconspicuous exit. His blood boiled. Sheila and Orloff! That greasy Russian! He would go home to dinner. He would take Gran to a movie. At least Gran was on the square. She was the only woman that was. Gran received him radiantly. She was all dressed up in a lavender taffeta, and there was an unaccustomed air of excitement about her. Her cheeks were softly flushed, and she fluttered about with little incoher- ent exclamations of surprise and pleasure. ‘‘Oh, my dear! How happy I am to have you dine at home to-night! It’s just too wonderful!” Taffy winced inwardly. What a selfish brute he had been for two weeks—eating around at cafeterias and beaneries, so that he could indulge his grouch, and leaving little Gran all alone. He summoned his most radiant smile. ‘Gran, you look scrumptious to-night. You’re getting younger every day. Goin’ to have a flapper on my hands if you keep on. What you been up to? You have all the ingratiating airs of the guilty woman.” His grandmother tossed her head, and ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. gave him a sidelong. glance. “I’m just happy, I guess. Now eat your dinner. It’s rather a nice one, and we have pineapple mousse for dessert.” They made a gay occasion of it. Taffy could be very charming when he chose, and his guilty conscience caused him to outdo himself. He related some of his choicest newspaper experiences, and soon had the little old lady in gales of laughter. “TI know what you’ve been doing,” he said as he helped her to rise from the table. “You spent that birthday hundred to have yourself rejuvenated.” “Well, something like it,” she said. “Theodore, my dear, I have a perfectly marvelous secret to tell you. <A very great happiness has come to me to-day. Bring me my bead bag, hanging on the back of that chair, and hand me my glasses.” “Tl bet,” said Taffy, dropping the bag in her lap, “‘ that you’ve saved an animal cracker for me.” His grandmother adjusted her glasses, dived into the bag, and produced a letter, her frail little hands trembling with ex- citement. ‘‘ Theodore,” she said, ‘ listen— just listen—to this: “My peAR Mrs. THURSTON: “We are immensely pleased to have re- ceived your story, ‘Severed Hearts,’ for ex- amination. After a careful study of your remarkable story, we are happy to be able to tell you that we consider it an excellent subject for a moving picture production. We are submitting our contract to you, because we believe that when properly worked up, your story will make a good salable photo- play. Our methods spare you the trouble of many weeks of tiresome study to secure the knowledge of plot construction. We shall make every endeavor to effect a quick and profitable sale for you. “Tf you will sign one of the inclosed con- tracts and return with remittance of forty- seven dollars and fifty cents we shall start work on your story immediately. ‘YOURS FOR COOPERATION.” “Who wrote that letter?” asked Taffy, in a queer voice. “Why, the Stockton Scenario Corpora- tion in Kansas City,” said the old lady complacently. ‘Isn’t it the loveliest thing that ever happened?”’ “ Er—you haven’t sent them the forty- GOMIIGooOO S (C ©)