The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 222: what you’re looking at

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

692 He drew back. Time enough, when every one had gone, to see him. He couldn’t stand another fine that. week, for even ten dollars makes a hole in the salary of a “ four-a-day ” man. And if there were others around it would get to the ears of the manager. There was no fear in Charlie Jay- son's mind. Hadn’t the strong man shown the yellow heart before? So he listened and counted, and when the last had gone he rose reso- lutely and closed the door, but Socrates jumped to his shoulder and would not be put off. Charlie was in a state of rage that refused to consider a thing like that. He paused at Molly’s door and could hear her moving around the small room. He walked to the end of the long, dark loft to where the cigarette smoke was strong. He saw that the heavy door of the strong man was ajar, and the key, with its red tag, was in the lock. He re- membered then the scene-shifter’s words. ‘That’s how he left his door so that the man could wake him and put him out after he had taken his “ rest.” He smelled the smoke, then he heard a snore. But what did he care? He'd wake him up! He put the fear of God and the fist of a white man into his yellow heart! Plaguing the Pink Prune! There could be no crime compared with that. “Another step nearer the door—then he stopped suddenly. Soft, very low and sweet he heard Molly Trainor’s voice trilling a chorus of an old-time song. His promise! He hadn’t thought of that before. He listened, the words came indistinctly through the closed door, but all the infinite tenderness that was in Molly’s wistful voice struck him. If he broke that promise he would hurt her. And he didn’t want to hurt her. No! He couldn’t. Nothing could be werth that. And he turned quietly and walked the length of the gallery back to his room. On the big trunk once more his chin THE ARGOSY. rested into his clasped hands. What a voice she had? And eyes? And lips? He’d never seen a girl like her! A new thought came to him like a flash of light, a thought that is as old as the ages, as young as the unborn things of heaven and earth. There never was a girl like Molly Trainor before! And he—why, the two-a-day was only a little way off. Certainly. And then—so the dreams that a million minds have conjured came and went. Forgotten was the dirty, boxlike room. Forgotten was time. Socrates, who had vainly tried to be playful without response, had scampered out through the open door. A sudden draft, or perhaps the paw of the animal, had closed it. But Charlie Jayson never noticed. He was with his dream and nothing existed that was not part of his dream. He found himself unconsciously sniffing at some odor that had forced his thoughts from their narrow chan- nel. Smoke! He was across the nar- row room in a jump. He flung open the door and stag-. gered back before the great wall of acrid smoke that drove in. Fire! The flimsy shell of building that had defied the laws of the insurance companies and the city for so long was burning. The monkey! Molly Trainor! Why hadn’t she given the alarm? But the doors were heavy—and she had been busy with her work, too en- grossed to notice, perhaps, as he had been with his dream. A spark drifted from somewhere along the gallery, caught in a tinder, gil-paint covered drop. It was a wall of flame instantly. In the depths he heard the fear-cry of the scene-shifter, heard his running steps. He shouted, but there was no answer. He ran to the door of Molly’s room and pounded. A faint cry an- swered ! He turned the knob. Thank God, it was unlocked! The smoke was thicker COMicdoo S CO@