The Argosy for May — page 176: what you’re looking at

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

AN ENTICING PROSPECT. His face was extremely sinister-look- ing, his eyes were beady; and, instead of looking you straight in the face, he had a habit of gazing at his large and ill- shod feet. I am optimistically inclined, however. “ After all,” I reflected, ‘“ appear- ances are often deceiving. This fellow may possess a heart of gold, despite his ill-favored countenance.” I held out my hand impulsively. ‘Farmer Snookins,’” I said, “I am very glad to meet you. I hope that our acquaintance will prove mutually pleas- ant.” “Huh!” he grunted. rig, and we'll be gettin’ along. We’re late already. Why in thunderation didn’t you tell me who you was before? Is this here your trunk?” I nodded. “Well, you’d better give me a hand in gettin’ it into the wagon, I reckon.” ‘Jump in the I complied. There was something. about - Farmer Snookins’s demeanor which forced compliance. [I began to feel pretty miserable and decidedly un- comfortable. My host’s manner was no more prepossessing than his looks, ‘“T suppose it’s just surface gruffness, though,” I reassured myself, still opti- mistic. ‘“‘ The natural gruffness of a son of the soil, I guess.” I climbed aboard the wagon, and Farmer Snookins seated himself beside me and took the reins. It was a long, tedious ride, and for the most part a painfully silent one. Mr. Snookins was not much of a con- -versationalist, it appeared. He rarely spoke unless I addressed myself to him, and then he generally replied in mono- syllables. The man’s manner soon oa to get on my nerves. There was something almost uncanny about him as he sat be- side me, grim and silent. My spirits began to grow more and. more depressed as the, ride progressed. To add to my discomfort, the mountain roads we traveled were so rough that I was shaken and rattled until I was on the verge of collapse. If that wagon had any springs at all, they certainly did not serve the purpose for which they were put there. How I wished now that I had not de- in 363 cided to spend my vacation at Shady Bower Farm. Even the prospect of meeting the bevy of beautiful boarders, including the fortunate winner of the pulchritude prize, could no _ longer cheer me. At length, just as I was beginning to believe that the ride would never come to an end, we drew up in front of a dilapidated two-story farmhouse, which wretchedness of appearance quite matched .the wagon and Farmer Snock- ins. Night had already descended, but there was not a single light in this gloomy looking building—not even the flicker of a candle in one of the win- dows. I turned to my companion fearfully. “What place is this?” 1 demanded hoarsely; but I knew intuitively what his answer would be. “This is Shady Bower Farm,” he an- swered, and he added to the words a chuckle that sounded positively fiendish. ‘Get out,” he commanded, ‘and give a hand with the trunk. Don’t sit gaping there, young feller. Everybody helps on Shady Bower Farm. We haven’t any use for shirkers around here; “But I didn’t come here to work,”’ I protested indignantly. Of course, I should not have minded helping him with the trunk, for it was obviously too heavy for him to handle alone; but I resented the command- ing tone in which he spoke, and I made up my mind that it was high time for us to arrive at an understanding. “I never heard of a boarding- -house where the guests were expected to do the work of a hired man,” I went on haughtily. “I do not wish to appear disobliging, Mr. Snookins; but I must positively refuse to be bossed by you.” He shrugged his_ shoulders, and, pursing his lips, emitted a shrill whistle. I heard a swishing in the long grass, and suddenly six of the most ferocious boarhounds I had ever seen dashed up to the wagon and began to growl and — snarl in a manner which filled me with terror. ‘These here dogs belong to me,” said Farmer Snookins quietly. “ At a word from me they would tear you to pieces. 0)(0)(6) imile S (C@