The Argosy, April 1916 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

1386 He was thinking how much she would gain for herself if she only could divert her mind, at least momentarily. But she per- sisted in her sobbing moan. Finally with a maniacal access of force she tore her arm loose from his hold and started away on a shambling run for the staircase. “Wait! Wait! I’m afraid you'll fall,” Weir called to her warningly. “You killed my father—yes, you and Ransom!” she cried hysterically, only striv- ing to run the faster at the sound of his voice. : Easily Weir was overtaking her. Susan had braced herself against the billiard-table as she went along beside it. When she was at one end of it Weir, behind her, was at the other end. He could be up with her in a bound or two and was about to leap forward, for she staggered to one side as her hand left the table. But a short man with flaming red hair and a powerful head and face ap- peared unexpectedly on the curving stair- case. THE ARGOSY. “Michael! Michael!” the girl shrieked. “He killed my father—he and Ransom! They came together! And he is Stephen Weir, who stole the ten thousand dollars reward!” ‘“Me poor child! God spare ye trouble!” said Michael, his roar of a voice shaking in sorrow. “Tis not the same girl at all y’are.”’ He rushed toward her and clasped her against his arm just as she seemed about to drop. “T’m terribly sorry,” Weir explained, undergoing the search of Michael’s trucu- lent eyes. “I was trying to assist Miss Ne- ville—” ‘‘Assist, is it?’? Michael echoed gibingly. ‘Assist yourself out of this house by the nearest door if you don’t want a dose of first aid to the injured, you dirty thief!— Gad, Ill finish you off anyway; ’twill make one less murdering, thieving scoundrel to fight.” Michael raised his revolver in his left hand. (To Be Concluded.) I. ARLY in January the lines of trenches E northeast of Richemout were being held by the second battalion of the Rangers. ‘It was a dreary, thankless job. The Pavul ber Neuman weather had been execrable, hard frost and pelting rain ringing the changes with blus- tering winds and damp, heavy mists. The German trenches were uncomfort- ably close—at some points within a hun- dred yards, and even when the big guns kept holiday, sniping was always going on. COMICLO© S (C@