The Argosy for May — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

HER IDEAL IN THE GRAY OVERCOAT. - The man I had seen entering our apartments had been admitted by Grace —who had returned earlier than I ex- pected, and answered his ring which I had arrived too late to hear. ‘Then, while I stood in our private hall outside the parlor door, my chum had slipped out through the back door that led to the elevators, leaving the stranger to be dis- covered alone in our rooms. Between nervous laughter and_ hys- terical tears, [ explained the whole story to Grace, from my observation of the man in the street-car to the scene with him she had interrupted. ‘And if you ever breathe to a soul— to him—” I finished in impressive warning. “You crazy little Indian!” said my chum. Do you think I’d spoil this bud- ding romance? Why you are the girl Tom raved about after he came in here as a “dream of ideal beauty he saw in the-car=! “Then,” I faltered happily, “ then he noticed me, too?” Grace laughed as she pushed me toward the parlor with a pat on the back. “He did—so thoroughly that his de- scription of you was astonishingly com- plete—for a man. Come on; let’s go back and give him another look at you!” ‘“ But—” I hesitated, my hand on the dining-room door, “think of the things I said to him about the silver in that ‘make 275 broken frame—and he’s in the jewelry business ! ” “Make him forget it,” encouraged my chum. ‘ Be nice to him. Come along!” Together we entered the parlor. The man in the gray overcoat turned from the window and came toward us, with his hat in his hand. Grace advanced and took it from his unresisting fingers, as she pushed him into our easiest easy chair. . ‘You're going to stay to tea, Tom,” she informed him, turning to the samovar on the little tabouret at his side. ‘So yourself perfectly comfortable while the kettle boils.” “Well, really,” he began, half pro- | testingly, with a swift glance at me, “Miss Fletcher might object to my ta- king a cup ‘ before her very eyes—’ ”’ I smiled back at him. “Not at all,” I answered. “ I’ll bring it to you myself, if you’ll promise to dis- play the cleverness I know you possess— and not drop it!”’ A quick light grew in his eyes, and under its glow I felt my cheeks redden, but I looked bravely back. My pulses quickened. Then, with a little gasp of sudden gladness, I turned toward Grace, bending busily over the tea-things. The man had not come into our home to rob, but he had stolen something there, just the same. And he was an ideal burglar. WHEN THE SUN SETS. Wirn sheen of shining sails aslant ‘They pass the harbor bar, To where the storm and stress of sea And wind’s bravado are; For this is best, to brave and breast The sea, to strive and win, Nor be of those who lie at ease Protecting harbors in. But ah, when sails are frayed and torn With strivings with the sea; Tis good to seek again and find The shelter of the lee; And this is best, to ride and rest In peace along the shore, Nor be of those whom hungry seas | Have gained to give no more! Guy Wetmore Carryl. MICLOOOKS (C@