Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 4 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

FIXED BY GEORGE. “No, he’s all right! He’s swimming!” And a fainter voice added: “ T’ve knocked this one cold!” ‘“ He'll get over it! the first tone. Steps were running toward Aunt Aman- da’s home. And they were steps that pounded cut salvation for George and for Dr. Poole, too, because they had claimed all of Mr. Starr’s flatteringly complete attention for a little. Albeit the hammer remained as it was, the muzzle of kis weapon pointed at the floor; if, absently, he chanced to pull the trigger now he would wound nothing more sensitive than a potato barrel or Aunt Amanda’s coal pile below! And it was glorious—even this little re- spite! George grinned faintly and dizzily and tried to assimilate the things that were passing before him now. Two young men had whisked into the picture, to be sure! One of them was tall and thin and distinctly handsome, markedly resembling Angela Starr. The other was shorter and heavily built, and had short, reddish hair, which caught one’s attention by reason of his bareheadedness. It was the tall. one who pantéd at Starr directly: “Dad! What the deuce—you’re here, are you? What kind of a joint is this?” He of the reddish hair laughed breath- lessly. “Crooks around!” he cried, rather in- coherently. ‘‘ They tried to get our car away when we got out of it! They—they’ll need mending before they try it again! Jack kicked one of ’em into the river!” “Yes, Sorley?” Starr said hoarsely, for it is a confusing thing to be interrupted just when one has all but consummated a nec- essary murder. | ‘‘And Harry put the other one to sleep, and—”’ began he whé was evidently Starr’s own son, and there he ceased speaking. Nor was this because Angela had sped across to the red-haired young person, nor because she threw herself sobbing upon him. “Harry! Harry! Harry!” she cried. “Youll forgive me, Harry? Won’t you forgive me? I—I thought I loved:him and I—I was crazy, Harry! I hate him! I loathe him! I loye you! Oh, Harry, I do love you! I do! I do!” Come along!” said 613 _ "Why, so—so I understood before, kid,”’ murmured young Mr. Sorley, who seemed pleasantly phlegmatic of disposition. ‘You're going to marry me, aren’t you?” ‘Yes, and soon! Let’s not wait, Harry!” Angela pleaded. ‘‘ Please let’s not wait all that time for the church wedding and every- thing. Let’s—let’s be married to-morrow, Harry! I’m not responsible—truly I’m not! I need you to look after me and keep me, and—Harry, will you?” ‘“So far as I’m concerned, yes!” smiled the red-haired one, and enfolded her in his thick, strong arms. ‘‘ It sounds to me like a darned good idea. What’s the row, Angy? Is it infatuated with the doctor?” “Tt thought it was, but it isn’t! Oh, Harry, it isn’t!” cried Angela, as she snug- gled closer to him, and even the most suspi- cious nerve specialist could not have ques- tioned the sanity of her glowing eyes. Yet, as has been said, it was not this little scene that so affected young Starr. He seemed wholly unaware of the scene’s exis- tence. His dark countenance gone quite black with towering rage and unutterable astonishment, Angela’s brother stared at Miss Woodbury alone and, as George ob- served mistily, that purely virtuous horror which all the rest of them had manifested at the first sight of her was altogether missing. Three successive times did Jack Starr swallow before he was able to ex- plode with: ‘“ Helen! What in the name of all that —what dye mean by it? Have you gone raving crazy? Where are your clothes? Who plastered that rotten paint all over you, and—and—look at those eyebrows!” His eyes closed tight and opened again. She was there as before, and the -veins stood out suddenly on the young man’s temples. ‘“Go wash off that stuff, Helen!” he roared. ‘‘ Wash it off! And put on some decent clothes!” “Do you know—that woman, Jack?” his father asked. ‘Know her? That’s Helen Deston, the girl I’m going to marry!” the younger Starr cried wildly. ‘‘ That’s the girl you’ve been raising Cain about this last month, father, without ever consenting to see her—just (S| QO) nn DOOK