Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

HIS OWN preacher, the same that had married him, droned gently out the open window: ‘“ Dear friends, I am called upon this day to perform a sad duty. Two of our brethren have departed the vale. You all know the tragic fate of George Canfield and Morton Greeves.”’ Mort began to tremble violently. His own funeral! ‘“ Have they got me in a box, for sure?” he wondered. He crept along until he was under the window. ‘Then, by terrible effort, he raised himself upright. There was a thick vine over the window, so no one could see him, but he made out the interior clearly. There were a lot of people. And there were two coffins. “They have got me!” Mort whispered. “T musta went along. with Canfield!” He never doubted it. Nor did it seem so very strange. Leisurely, the elder launched into ir ser- mon. “ Of our brother, George Canfield, I know but little. It is neither my desire nor my duty to go into that little.” ‘He means about Linda,” thought Mort. “Let us, therefore, not judge him. Let us, with charity in our hearts, consign him to the Almighty Judge. ‘But our other brother, Morton Greeves, was well known to us all, and well be- loved.” The elder’s voice shook. |} Mort continued to stand, clinging to the sill. It seemed, somehow, vaguely worth while to stand at one’s own funeral. He watched the scene with interest. There was Mrs. Buttry. There was Peter Wimple and Caspar Judd. All crying. And, yes, sir, there was Ed Zook crying, too! Mort had no near relatives, but there were rows and rows of neighbors. And young Payne, aloof and elegant, and strangely haggard. Linda was not there. He was glad of “Friends, this is a mighty hard funeral sermon to preach.”’ The old minister smiled his sweet, wise smile. The audience stirred understandingly. ‘‘ But I have come to the conclusion that there is no use winking at facts. I could stand here and sing only praises of Morton Greeves. But the last months 2 his life were not deserving of praises.”’ FUNERAL. A1% Mort’s jaw sagged in astonishment. He had been in a-sort of detached sympathy with the tears and the sadness. But this plain talk—was it usual at funerals, he wondered? He didn’t like it. ‘“Up to six months ago our brother was a fine young man. A loving husband, a good neighbor, a loyal citizen. He was thrifty and ambitious. He was respected. His home was a happy home. “What, then, changed this respected young man? What brutalized his fine young manhood? Disappointment, friends! Disappointment over the loss of a few pal- try hundred dollars.” “Huh!” muttered Mort. ‘“ The parson never saw a hundred dollars all to once in his life!” ‘¢ Six months ago Morton Greeves was de- frauded of his savings. It was a blow, a hard blow. But it was a test sent by the Lord. And did he stand up under the test? No. He broke down like a child over a broken toy. And he turned to the one thing no member of his family could ever touch with safety. Drink. You know the rest, friends. And all because he could not meet a petty trial like a man.” “Petty trial—losin’ all that money?” thought Mort indignantly. The preacher went on, after his lights. ‘“ And at length Mort also was consigned to the Almighty.” “if that there Almighty Judge hands it out any plainer, I dunno what 71] become of me!’ There was a prayer, another hymn, and the procession filed out. Mort sank down. “I wonder, Zave they got me in that box?” He honestly did not know. He seemed to be alive. He ached as if he were alive. The pain in his legs was very much alive. But so much had happened lately, he couldn’t be sure. He watched the procession move up to the cemetery, a few rods distant. Suddenly a fit of rage possessed him. “* Hell of a lot the parson knows!” he said savagely. “If I am alive, and ever get on my legs again, I’m goin’ to drink, ’n’ drink till the stuffs all gone! Ambitious, thrifty, lovin’ husband—hell!”’ He did not know he was making his last resistance to the preacher’s indictment. comicloook< ‘““Gosh,” muttered Mort, | C©