Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

416 in that chap’s body. I know he’s a mar- ried man, and I know he used to be kind of sweet on you. What did he do— throw you over? Just say the word— and—”’ ‘Mr. Bronson!”’ Sheila’s head went very high ‘ Please remember that it isn’t quite the thing for you to say that Philipse threw me over. It’s—it’s insult- ing.” Bronson was nonplused. “T didn’t— didn’t mean to be insulting,” he faltered. ““T hope you'll forgive me?” ‘Yes, under the condition that you don’t speak about Mr. Philipse again.” ‘‘T promise.” There was a moment of strained si- lence—Bronson picked up a book and turned the pages, and then Miss Goode came in and eased the tenseness of the atmosphere. Even if he had promised not to speak about Philipse, Bronson did a great deal of thinking; and as if his questions were incidental, he asked Mr. Hamilton to tell him something of the man. Hamilton had little to say. He was a splendid salesman; married; his wife was sup- posed to be rich; and there the story stopped save for business details, which were many and all to Philipse’s credit. At noontime, finding Sheila alone, Bronson reminded her that he had only one more evening in town, and asked her if it couldn’t be celebrated in what he termed ‘‘a bang-up manner.” Sheila hesitated before answering. Since the previous night she had rather feared to be alone with Bronson. Still, his very presence in the office was enjoy- able. She had smiled many times at his eagerness to ‘break every bone in Philipse’s body ” — there was something about Bronson which made her feel that he would really do such a thing if she demanded. Sheila did not know it—or, rather, would not admit it— but Bronson had come to mean much to her in the past two days. She was modern enough to scoff at love at first sight, and yet— THE ARGOSY. ‘““T would like to go,” she said simply. “Only let’s see something big and grip- ping. I don’t feel like silly, tinkly enter- tainment to-night.” | They chose the play, and Bronson sent for tickets. ‘Now you put on your pretty dress again, and we'll have a bang-up supper anywhere you say. This is going to be an evening to remember the rest of -our lives.” At closing time, however, Sheila told Bronson that they would have to forego the dinner-party. “Mr. Philipse wants a part got out to-night. I'll have it finished in an hour, and you can call for me in time for the theater. I’m sorry, but the report is mighty urgent.” ‘““Can’t it go over till morning?” he asked. . Philipse wants it mailed to- “ Mr. night.” “What is it?” “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet.” “Then I’m going to tell him to get some one else to do it?” | ‘‘ No—please don’t. Just you go right along, and call for me about half past seven—no, make it quarter past—and then we can have coffee at one of the hotels and pretend we had a wonderful dinner. There’ll be time if you get there at quarter past.” ‘Quarter past,” Bronson repeated sharply, and went back to Hamilton’s room for his coat and hat. The office was_ almost deserted now, the later-goers hurrying with their work. He debated a minute, and then went to the elevator. He walked slowly the length of the block, and then turned with brisker steps in the direction of Broad- way. At the subway entrance he paused again. What right had Philipse to want a report on this of all nights? This time to-morrow he — Bronson — would be speeding westward, and Philipse could have all the reports he wanted—unless— comicloool C©