The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 217: what you’re looking at

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

THE PINK PRUNE PAYS. One step! Two steps! Charlie jay- son was upon him—and the harsh voice of the stage-manager broke in angrily, furiously: “Ten dollars apiece for Wanta break up the show? your dressing-rooms! ”’ The voice of unquestioned author- ity tore away the red curtain from Charlie Jayson’s eyes and waked him from his enraged trance. He realized that the orchestra was playing furi- ously; that the act on the stage had lost semblance of being an act and had become only a mask for the con- fusion back stage. He saw an open-mouthed group of stage-hands watching. His eyes took in Molly, supporting her trembling body with hands on the shaky drop, and Socrates, cowering at her feet, still chattering his childlike moans. “All right!” he snapped, and a jerky, sarcastic laugh came from his lips as he saw the face of the strong man. “It was worth it!” he sneered. Then he picked up the monkey with a tender sweep of his arms and hur- ried up the spiral iron stairs to his dressing-room. He slammed the door shut behind him; he grabbed up his stteet coat and that! Get to made a soft cushion on the trunk for Socrates. With fingers that shook, despite his efforts to keep them steady, and a sick fear that gripped at his heart, he examined the monk. A prayer of thanks escaped him. Socrates wasn't hurt; he was only shaken up and frightened. The loose canvas of the drop had saved bones, and the agility of a thousand genera- tions had done the rest. Even as Charlie straightened up; the monkey imitated him, chattered a few gutturals, and gravely extended his hand to show that they’d fought together and were pals. “You little son-of-a-gun!” grinned Charlie happily. ‘‘ Wanted to scare me, eh? You darned little cuss!” Thankfulness for the monkey’s lack of hurt made him forget everything 687 else, and he hurried into his street clothes, with the able assistance of Socrates, who always acted as valet and usually proved more of a hin- drance than a help. But both en- joyed it. When Charlie was ready for the street Socrates unprotestingly crawled into his wicker carrying -case and closed the door behind him for his journey down the spiral staircase and under the stage, where a shifter made an extra dollar that week for taking care of him. Just as Charlie Jayson’s hand was cn the knob of his door a timid knock sounded. He opened it to face Molly Trainor. She went a shade paler as she saw the case and the sudden grav- ity that her unexpected presence had inexplicably brought to Charlie’s face. “ He isn’t—dead?” she stammered. “I hurried dressing—because I want- ed to know. He looked so helpless and pitiful there—and I couldn’t seem to move!” “Not a scratch!” laughed Charlie, for a laugh seemed to be the thing she needed just then. He understood now why the gravity had come; it was be- cause she had looked so pale, and just a trifle helpless, too. she was a mite of a thing in her simple street clothes, with a big muff that only made her looked smaller in comparison. Sudden anger rose to- ward the interrupter of the little scene off stage. . “Blame that stage - manager!” he snapped. ‘ Another second—” He glowered because it was not necessary to finish the sentence with words. “T was so frightened!” she cried, with an unconscious tremor in her voice. “And you were so wonder- ful!” Her whole face lighted up in the way that sent a glow inside of Charlie Jayson that had never been there before. “ Can’t we make that lie truth?” he asked in sudden bravery. | “You mean—” -Her eyes, trained by her life to defend her, probed deep. COMicdoo S CO@