Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

THE HOUSE “ But your own home, what is that? A crumbling shell of deceit. There is the swindle, on your own hearth. A great, empty house that mocks you—even the woman who tried to be your wife has quit that fraud. “You are the failure, Frank La Salle, the outcast doomed to wander in the dark— the stranger who peeps through the lighted window at other men’s happiness, alone, friendless, unclean!” Diana paused with heaving breast. One blazing white moment the emotion of her awakening had swept her to a height few humans reach. Passion had exalted her until she spoke with an insight and a pre- science more than mortal. Now the fire died and left her again a woman. Un- steadily she moved toward Devree. She touched his sleeve and spoke with a strange humility: “Gordon, I—perhaps I seem very in- sistent—not even very ladylike, I’m afraid, but to-day I made a promise. I—still want: —to keep—that promise. Gordon!” Devree’s arms were about her, holding her fast. He could find no words to tell her, but she knew the eloquence of his em- brace. “Good God,” La Salle gasped, “‘ the girl’s crazy!” “The girl is sane,” proudly. ‘“ Sane—at last!” “The Thawns will pay for this—I’ll smash that business!” “That price is cheap, La Salle. it. Do you think we are afraid of you?” Then, finally, La Salle knew he had lost. She was not afraid—and never would be afraid again. Something changed within him at that look. It was as if that curious composition of human elements that was Frank La Salle had been touched with the one potent chemical solvent that was its master and at the touch, precipitated into chemical chaos. His pallid face burned a sudden red. He pushed them from his path, unseeing. Be- fore he had reached the door he ran, and he went into the night bareheaded. The door slammed behind him, and they heard the roar of his powerful car—then silence. Diana declared Smash - OF FRAUD 141 With his going a new and more wonder- ful beauty enriched the house of fraud. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE REAPING. "THE four happy people before the fire had come to a pause in their talk that spoke more eloquently than all they had said. Life promised them much, and what troubles it might bring beside those prom- ises they could face secure in the knowl- edge of their common courage. The fire glow in the fine, incongruously shabby room was never more rich nor beautiful. The house that was a lie—yet honest and fine from the truth that inspired it—glowed with a rosy content. The hysteric clamor of running stepa' brought them to their feet. The door burst open, and a mud-soaked man stumbled in, dripping rain. It was Dad Garfield. “‘ Gordon,” he wheezed, ‘‘ Gordon—terri- ble thing—an awful accident—”’ ‘Not mother?’’ Devree exclaimed, whit- ening. ‘““No, no; mother’s all right, safe and sound, but—a man—an automobile. It was awful—”’ ‘What? Dad, tell us!” ‘“Mother and I were sitting in the kitchen, Gordon, talking. We heard him coming, heard his motor horn whooping. Must have lost his way in the dark. Driv- ing down that old road, the old road that used to go behind the house-—where I was going to put the garden. I ran out.to warn him. Shouted my head off as Iran. I tell you he was a lunatic, driving like a wild man. Before I could get to him he’d hit it —the hole they dug there for the new house—the foundation hole. Oh! Car turned over—clean over. He was under- neath when I got to him—Frank La Salle—”’ “Wait,” Devree interrupted. “ Tele- phone! A doctor—an ambulance—” Dad shook his head. No need, now,” he said soberly. ‘It’s no use—La Salle is dead. Must have died the minute the car spilled over—into the hole he had dug.” (The End.) cComiclbooks.com