Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

DOUBLES AND QUITS. aine before finishing up her day’s work, and she hurried into the studio to find the supposed Miss Drew crumpled up on the couch in tears. | _ “Oh, deary, is your foot bad again?” the sympathetic soul cried. “ And that doctor’s all wrong,” she con- tinued. “J say it ought to be ban- daged, but I suppose it’s no good going against his orders. Can I get you some- thing, deary?”’ | “ A cup of tea, if you'll be so kind,” Amy replied. The old woman’s lips trembled. “ I know tea’s much better for you, but if you’re in such pain perhaps you’d rather have some- thing stronger. It isn’t in the heart of me to see you suffer so.” “No, thank you, Sponger. Tea is all I want. And it isn’t really my ankle. It’s just been a horrid beastly day. By the way, a gentleman by the name of Mr. Pun- ter is coming to see me this evening. I believe he expects to be given supper—” Mrs. Sponch’s face took on such an ex- pression of mingled annoyance and perplex- ity that Amy knew she had blundered again, ‘“‘He’s the stage manager at the Augustin,” she explained awkwardly. “ You talk as though I don’t know who he is,” Old Sponger said coldly. ‘“ Well, I’m sorry to hear he’s coming again, I thought—I was hoping—you were through with him and—his tricks. Oh, Miss Lor- aine, deary, the man ’ll never be any good to you in this world!” “T don’t think he’ll do me any harm,” Amy replied a little distantly. “If you must know, he’s coming out of kind- heartedness to coach me in my work. I’m terribly stupid.” Old Sponger laughed derisively and went back to her kitchen. CHAPTER XXII. OUT OF THE PIT. N the roth of October the Augustin Theater was scheduled to open its season with the much-advertised musical comedy, “ The Raja.” The fin- ished production was a sumptuous and bril- 103 liant affair, and no one would have been more amazed than Amy Marshall could she have foreseen her own place in it that day of the first rehearsal when ignominy and defeat stared her in the face. One might write endlessly of her various experiences, her trials and worries, but as time went on and she held grimly to the task it was plain that she was going to succeed. Also, it became easier to think of herself as Loraine Drew, and more difficult to con- fuse her. Fortunately the mysterious Teddie Butcher explained himself in a letter before he turned up. He proved to be the sender of the brace of grouse, one of which had been fed to Amy that night when she was starving. He sent more grouse, and an- nounced his return from Scotland by a tele- gram, saying that although he might not get a chance to see her before he would assuredly be present at the first perform- ance of “ The Raja,” and hoped she would do him the honor of letting him take her out to supper after the performance. Early in the morning of this eventful roth of October something of great impor- tance was happening in a bleak gray spot in the north. Quentin Prison lies in the midst of roll- ing downland. For miles around there are only the bare hills with a little hamlet of Stunted houses clustering not far from the prison walls. A mile below a solitary rail- way line winds away from the most primi- tive of stations. Two trains a day connect with the junction twenty miles away, and from there one may reach Witcham in three-quarters of an hour by rail. The evening train to Quentin brought incoming prisoners and the friends or rela- tives of men who were to be released the following morning. These latter would put up for the night at the so-called hotel. The morning train, which left at nine o’clock, took away the men whose sentences were up, together with the aforesaid friends and relatives, should there happen to be any. It was a lonely prisoner, indeed, who could not count upon either his wife or his mother to be waiting for him when the great gates opened and he walked forth once more a free man, comicloool C©