Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

MAGNIFICENT FOLLY. “You mean—you’ve — changed your mind?” he faltered, his resolution suddenly gone. He could not bring himself to link her name with Oily Duke’s, as he had in- tended. She stole a glance in hjs-direction, and a wave of pity smote her. His face was dev- astated with emotion like a landscape beset with a gale. Iris could not trust her voice. She closed her eyes and nodded helplessly. CHAPTER XXII. A STRANGE DISEASE UNVEILED. HARLIE tried his best to be a model patient, but lying idle irked him, and sometimes be broke over. Mrs. Dow- dy indulged these lapses as the vagaries of a sick man, and gave them no more con- cern than the wind that upset the vase of wild flowers on the center table, or the April rain that took the starch out of the week’s wash drying on the line. She en- dured Charlie’s grumbling with the same good-humored composure with which she restored the flowers and the starch. There was one theme, however, upon which Char- lie could not be reconciled or silenced, and Mrs. Dowdy was bound to hear him through. This was criticism of herself—of making a “ doormat.” of herself, as Charlie put it. | The argument took many forms, and Mrs. Dowdy agreed that she was usually “bested,” which destroyed none of her complacency nor changed her attitude one iota. One day, however, Charlie thought he made a dent in her armor. The kindly little woman had concocted a special delicacy for the patient—prune whip. She trippéd into the sick room, bearing the confection proudly, her face alight with anticipatory appreciation. But Charlie’s appetite was negligible. Besides, he did not like prune whip, or prune any- thing else. Prunes were his particular aver- sion. Once, on the ranch, he had inaugurated a “ prune strike ” among the punchers and led it to a successful conclusion, whereby the cook eliminated prunes from the daily “‘ chuck,” so plainly he was not one to 255 relish the tabooed food as a sick room deli- cacy. But Mrs. Dowdy did not know this, and it was not in Charlie’s heart to tell her; he merely said that he was not hungry. ‘* But, Charlie, you don’t know how good tis!” cried the little woman is dismay. Charlie turned a commiserating look upon the dish, then his eyes took in her dis- appointment. | ‘* Put it on the table,” he directed kindly. “Maybe I’ll eat it later.” Mrs. Dowdy, satisfied, drew the table near the bed and placed the dish upon it. Then she stood for a moment looking in sympathy at Charlie’s emaciated face. ‘“No need to ask you how you feel,” she fibbed. ‘‘ Anybody can see how you’re pickin’ up. We’ll have you out in a few days.” ‘““Maybe you will, and maybe you won’t,”” grumbled Charlie. “TI ain’t feel- in’ none too good to-day.” ‘“ Pshaw, Charlie! You're as chipper as a sparrer. I don’t reckon I’ll be able to cook enough to fill you up by this time next week.” Young Willy had followed his mother into the room, and stood eying the prune whip with longing. He was at the vacuum age—never quite filled. Watching Charlie and his mother out of one eye, he furtively poked an exploring finger into the dish and withdrew a gob of the confection. The sick man saw the marauding act, and resented it. Charlie resented almost every- thing that Willy, a small replica of his fa- ther, did. “‘ Here you, Bill!” he exclaimed. “ Keep your dirty paws outa that!” Mrs. Dowdy turned quickly, and at the sight of the young freckle-faced scion smiled indulgently. Willy weighed the smile against the sick man’s frown, and drew a proper conclu- sion. ‘“‘ Ma, gimme some o’ that there!” he de- manded, sucking a gooey finger. Mrs. Dowdy would have yielded, had the confection been her own, but she had al- ready passed the title to Charlie and Charlie said not a word. ‘“‘'Ma, gimme!” pleaded Willy. comiclbooolx C©