The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 237: what you’re looking at

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

A GUCKY SIGN. was dragged from her slumbers by a ruthless hand. “Oh, Pauline,” caroled Sally’s voice through the darkness, “ wake up like an angel and listen. I’ve got a hunch. J dreamed of picking four- leaf clovers on a lawn, and then I looked up and at the house and Mrs, Charteris was standing on the front steps. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing in signs. It’s that darling little bungalow beside the tennis club that John West- wood built for the niece that kept house for him when she married Jack Bartlett. ‘Jack won't let her take any money from her uncle, you know, and she'll be mighty glad of that five hundred dolfars per I’m sure. The house is small, that’s why I didn’t think of it before, but it’s perfect in every detail and plenty big enough for one woman and all the servants she ought to need. I’m going to see Mrs. Bartlett in the morning.” | Mrs. Bartlett proved more than amenable to reason. Jack was a dear, she confided frankly, and the most generous boy in the world with what. he had, but she certainly did miss Uncle John’s “ fat checks,” and “five hundred dollars a month for five or six months would be a perfect god- send. Would Miss Reynolds kindly go and get Mrs. Charteris at once? Miss Reynolds went, not only as kindly, but as swiftly as she could. In fact, nothing but her friendly. habit of nodding to all the policemen she passed saved her from being dealt with severe- ly for “ speeding.” Mrs. Charteris insisted on a taxi- cab as usual, though Sally longed to exhibit her to the dazzled eyes of Chi- chester in her little roadster, but she did not brighten at the prospect of the bungalow, as Saily had hoped. “T simply cannot live in a tucked- up little house,” she said with a child- like droop to her mouth, and Sally’s own lip almost trembled under the pa- thetic thrill of the voice. 107 “Oh, but it is such a darling little place,” Sally persisted; “just wait till you see it.” Mrs. Charteris waited, but even after inspecting every perfection the bungalow could offer, she still drooped sadly and shook her head, “It is lovely, but so small,” she pleaded. “Where could I put my maid, where could I put my chauffeur, where is the garage for my cars?” Mrs. Bartlett dashed eagerly after her departing gold mine. “ Oh, Mrs. Charteris, that could be managed!” she cried. “I’m sure I could get Uncle John to let you keep the car in his garage, and your chauffeur could board with his. My back lawn ad- joins his, you know, his grounds ex- tend the whole length of the block be~- hind those other houses and we have a gate between.” “Uncle John?” questioned Mrs, Charteris uncertainly. “Mr. John Westwood,” explained Sally eagerly.. “ You’ve heard of him, of course, the Nodal man, you know, Chichester’s multiest millionaire.” Not to have heard of Mr. John Westwood was truly to argue yourself unread—in magazine advertising, any- way. The pathetic droop slipped away from Mrs. Charteris’s figure and face like magic. “Mr. Westwood!” she — cried. “Mr. John Westwood! Is he your uncle? My dear, if you can make that arrangement about the garage and the chauffeur, PH pay eight hundred dol- lars; but it must be in the lease. The house, as you say, 1s perfect.” That night Mrs. Ronald Charteris left for New York with the lease tucked safely in the faultless hand- bag. “T know so little about business,” she explained prettily to Sally. ‘“f never sign anything without showing it to my attarneys. Will you let me kiss you good-by, my’ dear? You have done so mtch for me. I never can thank you enough!” COMicdoo S CO@