Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

640 «He keepeth it a secret, so be discreet and mention it not to him. ‘Tis a magic harp. <A jealous harp, Take care thou dost not fajl in love with the princess or her handmaiden lest thy harp die of jealousy or evil befall thee.’ ‘““Nay,’ said Yosut. childishly.’ “Tt is so,’ answered Pira. ‘ Mayst thou not prove the truth of it.’ ‘““ He was a wise, wise man, the merchant Pira Bahkru. ‘Some days later a messenger appeared at the home of Yosuf Abram and bade him appear before the great Khan Adir Kuri and play for his entertainent. ‘“ And so it came about that one evening Yosuf Abram sat at the feet of the great Khan, who sat on a dais beside his daugh- ter, while the handmaiden Arimida attended her mistress. All around him in the great hall were clustered all the nobles and promi- nent men in the land, all eager to hear the playing of the beggar, Yosuf Abram. “ And Yosuf played. He played a love song to his adored Arimida, which was so fervent, so full of adoration that all who heard him held their breaths and tears came to their eyes. ‘“The handmaiden Arimida sat with her THE ‘Thou speakest Uv o ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, eyes on her lover and listened and under- stood. “The eyes of Yosuf Abram were fixed at the feet of Arimida. His soul was on the tips of his fingers and spoke from the strings of the harp. “The great hall was quiet as with the quietness of death, and the harp sang like an angel choir of a new life: “The Princess Roxanna sat with her eyes on the player and listened and understood. suddenly she leaned toward Arimida and spoke a few words. “They were clever words, ludicrous words, and with no thought of her act Ari- mida giggled. ‘A single little giggle, but it burst upon the crowded hall like the crack of a whip, and Yosuf heard it appalled. She had not known, she had not known. ‘The harp gave a great jealous cry as it crashed to death, and its master fled out of the door. ‘He was a wise, wise man, the merchant Pira Bahkru,” concluded Im Khadra as he wrapped his prayer rug about him. ‘“‘ My old friend, more worn, more torn, more ragged than ever. How like its master,” and Im Khadra entered the prison and re- tired to his cot. END THE CALL TEP out of yesterday, Youth of my dreams, For one golden hour. The moments between Are but dross That we toss To the winds. Facets of light on this Scintillant hour Are burnished by time. Come out of the tower Of gloom And dark doom Into the light of to-day. Ruby Douglas. 10 A NOOK