Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUMPING-OFF PLACE. claim. Bruce was to sell all riparian and mineral and other rights. _ 2 eae te deed without a smile and filled in thé directions by which Cal- buco was to find his new purchase, starting from a given point on the western~end. of the strait—on the shore where a claim--~of money, you know. What part of the’ stake marked the Isabella. Calbuco’s law- yer, Pedro and others witnessed this. Walstrgn did not see it because he was busy smuggling a young American aboard the steamer’s launch. When the steamer got under weigh and Punta vanished around the bend in the strait, John Bruce and his daughter sought for Dave Thornton and did not find him. Nor did Walstrom know where he was. U SOME R ol It was not until they assembled in the dining saloon in the evening that-they dis- covered Dave in the white jacket of a mess- boy. John Bruce went straight to him. “You helped us out,” the Englishman said. “‘ We’re going home with a good deal three thousand pounds is yours?” = Bosh” lied. ‘I’m working my way back to N’Yawk~.Say, you don’t want me to lose my job, do you=-talking this way? I guess not.” One thing Dave wanted badly. He de- sired to see Calbuco’s face when the man sought out the location that had been given him and found that he jhad bought the Evangelistas, lighthouse and all. U 9) EASONS O#: I could write a poem If I only had the time; My soul is full of noble thoughts And lofty, ringing rime. But, just as soon as I sit down And take my pen in hand— Well, read a little further, And I think you’ll understand. On yonder mountain’s highest peak— Hush, Johnny, let your sister speak! Give her the doll! Now stop your crying! — A white and fleecy cloud is lying. No, George, the water is too cold; A month from now. Do as you’re told!— And round the barren, purple rocks— Oh, dear, I haven’t darned those socks! — A snow-white bird is slowly flying. The only word that rimes is “ dying.” Good gracious! Listen to those boys! They drive me mad with all this noise. Mary, why don’t you do your scales?— I’d like to write of woodland dales, They sound so pleasant and so cool. Yes, Bridget, use the one-egg rule. Alas, my soul is ever yearning— Whai can it be that I smell burning? There now! The cake is spoiled. I knew it! Nobody else can ever do it! There goes the phone! Hello—yes, me! What, coming here right now, for tea? | guess I'll leave that noble rime Till some day when I have more time! Pauline D, Partridge cComiclool C C@