The Argosy, April 1916 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

48 When she saw him she put her finger to her lip. Then he saw the effort she was making to remain unconcerned. He made a turn as if to go up the narrow stairs to the attic room he had left. She touched his arm, and shook her head, and beckoned him to follow her. Without a word, or a sign of reluctance, he did so. She led him along the upper hall to a small door that gave upon the loft over the kitchen from which vantage ground she had heard the ignominious defeat of Greenland. Yale marveled again: Farm, knew more about his grandfather’s house than he knew himself. He could not remember this dark hole that smelled of bacon and dried apples and turnips and farm soil sticking to the roots of cabbages. ‘“‘He won’t find you here,” she whispered. ‘Who is he, do you suppose?” “He is no insurance appraiser,’ replied Yale, also whispering. ‘“‘He had something to do with your abduction. He was at Whitesboro—”’ “Hush! He will be ransacking the ‘house. I am not afraid—now. He hasn’t come to do anything this time, but to look over the ground. You didn’t increase the furniture insurance, did you?” “There is none that I know anything about.” - “T must go. I'll manage to keep an eye on him. There is a key in the door to this place. Jl lock.the door and put the key in my pocket.” The intruder could have reached the loft from the kitchen, but Yale knew the fellow was too shrewd to give his game away by any such child’s play... Beverly went out, and Yale heard the lock of the little door click. Now he could hear nothing, do nothing, without risking a contretemps that might be dangerous. He could not hear any voices, but the shuffling of the old woman around the kitchen made an agreeable noise. “If she could not understand what was said to her, she had wonderfully sharp ears, and by listening to her pottering around Yale could keep himself assured of Bev-— erly’s safety. But what did—what soit fellow want? If he was in search of Yale he had gone about it in a clumsy fashion. If he knew that Yale was in the house, he had shown a remarkable nerve in coming there This girl who, a | week before, had never heard of Old Mill THE ARGOSY. alone: It was impossible, so far as Yale could see, that the fellow should have any knowledge of his present physical condi- tion. He heard another step beside the old dame’s, and listened intently to what went on below. “Fine day, auntie,’’ began the insurance appraiser. ‘‘Got a fine, clean kitchen here.” “Na! oP) “Boss out around the buildings, I sup- pose?”’ “Na! 9 ‘“‘Where can I find him, then?” “Na! Na!” “Your conversation is illuminating. I want to find Mr. Owens.” “Na! ? “Crescendo, then diminuendo. old lady.” “Have you finished” asked Beverly. “On this floor. Yale has some pretty fine old furniture here. I don’t think I shall interfere with his valuation. It is low enough.” “Y’m sure he ought to, appreciate your kindness. I know my _ husband, Mr. Owens, would.” “Tl just take a look around up-stairs. = And he did. He went into every bed- Unlike most of the farmhouses in that vicinity, this old homestead of the Yales had been brought up. to date in modern comforts. A great tank had been erected near the creek, to which a windmill pumped water. This was piped to, and through, Thanks, © the house, and all but the attic and loft was heated by a hot water plant. A bedroom had been transformed into a tiled bath- room, with hot and cold water. Old. Grandfather Yale must have de- veloped at seventy some Sybaritish ten- dencies. Or, as an investment, for renting at a good figure, he may have thought the outlay would more than repay itself. The appraiser went into the bathroom, and opened his eyes. Here was luxury for a farmhouse. But, as Beverly had told Yale, this was no longer a farmhouse. It was a country villa. But, if the appraiser was in search of Kenneth Yale he might as well have searched the, well. That relic of old farm days still stood, for water that is tanked and piped will never taste like that which springs from the crevices of the rock forty feet below the surface of the earth. comicloool C@