Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

268 anything, Charlie?” She glanced up to meet the unheeding countenance of Charlie. Following his embittered gaze, she saw, for the first time, the situation on the stage— the confused children, Willy galloping com- placently, and Iris, with flushed face, step- ping from behind the scenes to untangle the snarl. “ Why, law,” said Mrs. Dowdy. ‘“ All of ’em’s out of step except Willy!”’ Charlie turned and glowered at her indig- nantly. His feelings were beyond the stage of polite repression. “Huh!” said he. “ Bill’s the very knock- kneed rascal that gummed it up!” But there was no wounding Mrs. Dowdy’s feelings. She, realizing that the program was all but ended, was hurrying away to provide for the dance. This was to take place within the schoolroom, and soon the crowd was surging toward the entrance. The phonograph began to pour forth its enticing strains, and Charlie looked around for Knox. He found him peering through the window at the dancers. Iris had been surrounded immediately by an eager group, all clamoring for the first dance.~ She yield- ed to the claims of Stub Peters, and as Knox watched, the two floated by the window. “Where you been?” asked Charlie at his elbow. “I saved a place for you all during the performance.” “ The lights hurt my eyes,” fibbed Knox. “Lights nothin’!” scoffed Charlie. “I seen you watchin’ that sorrel girl like a sick calf. Come on in and dance.” ‘No; I'll stay and watch the horses.” Charlie swore under his breath. A flash of lightning zigzagged across the sky. ‘“ See,” said Knox. “It’s going to storm. I’d better stay outside. You run along be- fore the wind musses your hair.” ‘“ Ho-hum,” yawned Charlie, pretending indifference. But Knox knew that he wouldn’t have missed the dance for worlds, and presently he saw Iris teaching him the intricacies of a new step. He turned away depressed. Everybody was enjoying the dance except himself—he who used to lead all the germans back home and to whom the rhythmic steps came as easy as breathing. There were other girls ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. inside. He needn’t have denied himself the pleasure of dancing because of his difference with Iris, but it did not enter his head to dance with any one else. He leaned against the post and gave himself up to the mys- terious gloom that had assailed him all eve- ning. He could not account for it—a strange premonition of impending danger. The presence of a radiant form beside him shook him from his reverie. A hand rested gently on his arm and he turned and beheld a vision. Iris, with cheeks like rose petals, stood at his ‘side imploring a dance. Passing the door, she had caught a glimpse of him, his shoulders hunched in despondency, and a spring of pity, of affec- tion, welled up in her. Answering the im- pulse, she stepped to his side and cautiously asked: “Will you dance with me?” Knox’s pulse quickened and a hot flame suffused his face. He would have yielded in a moment, but a sudden perversity seized him. “Why do you wish to dance with me?” he asked. | She flashed a look at him with eyes that spoke like music. Any one could have read their message of love—any one save the pur- blind boy. “Why?” he insisted tenaciously. Before the tenseness of his figure and the steadiness of his blue-gray eyes, the resolu- tion of the girl wavered. ‘“I—I thought you were lonely,” faltered poor Iris, plaintive as a child. ‘You were mistaken,” crisply. It was Iris’s turn to blush, which she did. Imperious as a queen she turned, spoke a hasty apology and reéntered the house. Then it was that Knox hated himself thoroughly. Hot waves of anger swept over him and he would have given anything to undo his rudeness, his rebuff of the girl he loved. For he was fathoms deep in love with Iris: With a groan he recalled the hurt look in her night-blue eyes. How had he answered he been able to do it? He was beginning to learn that a man may hurt that which he loves best, though the reaction to such a passion is utter pain. No punishment which may come to such a COMmiclboo SS C©