Quin

Alice Hegan Rice
￐
Quin, by Alice Hegan Rice

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Quin, by Alice Hegan Rice This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Quin
Author: Alice Hegan Rice
Release Date: December 5, 2006 [EBook #20033]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)

[Illustration: "If you don't leave the room instantly, I will!"]

Q U I N

BY
ALICE HEGAN RICE
Author of "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch," "Lovey Mary," "Sandy," "Calvary Alley," etc.

NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1921

Copyright, 1921, by THE CENTURY CO.
PRINTED IN U. S. A.

TO MY MERRIEST FRIEND
JOSEPHINE F. HAMILL

Transcriber's Note:
The Table of Contents was not in the original text and has been created for the convenience of the reader.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 17

Q U I N
CHAPTER 1
If the dollar Quinby Graham tossed up on New Year's eve had not elected to slip through his fingers and roll down the sewer grating, there might have been no story to write. Quin had said, "Tails, yes"; and who knows but that down there under the pavement that coin of fate was registering "Heads, no"? It was useless to suggest trying it over, however, for neither of the young privates with town leave for twenty-four hours possessed another coin.
The heavier of the two boys, Cass Martel,--the lame one, whose nose began quite seriously, as if it had every intention of being a nose, then changed abruptly into a button,--scraped the snow from the sewer grating with his cane, and swore savagely under his breath. But Quin shrugged his shoulders with a slow, easy-going laugh.
"That settles it," he said triumphantly. "We got to go to the Hawaiian Garden now, because it's the only place that's free!"
"I'll be hanged if I know what you want to go to a dance for," argued his companion fiercely. "Here you been on your back for six months, and your legs so shaky they won't hardly hold you. Don't you know you can't dance?"
"Sure," agreed Quin amicably. "I don't mean to dance. But I got to go where I can see some girls. I'm dead sick of men. Come on in. We don't need to stay but a little while."
"That's too long for me," said Cass. "If you weren't such a bonehead for doing what you start out to do, we could do something interesting."
One might have thought they were Siamese twins, from the way in which Cass ignored the possibility of each going his own way. He glared at his tall companion with a mingled expression of rage and dog-like devotion.
"Cut it out, Cass," said Quin at last, putting an end to an argument that had been in progress for fifteen minutes. "I'm going to that dance, and I'm going to make love to the first girl that looks at me. I'll meet you wherever you say at six o'clock."
Cass, seeing that further persuasion was useless, reluctantly consented.
"Well, you take care of yourself, and don't forget you are going home with me for the night," he warned.
"Where else could I go? Haven't got a red cent, and I wouldn't go back out to the hospital if I had to bunk on the curbstone! So long, chérie!"
Sergeant Quinby Graham, having thus carried his point, adjusted his overseas cap at a more acute angle, turned back his coat to show his distinguished-conduct medal, and went blithely up the steps to the dance-hall. He was tall and outrageously thin, and pale with the pallor that comes from long confinement. His hands and feet seemed too big for the rest of him, and his blond hair stuck up in a bristly mop above his high forehead. But Sergeant Graham walked with the buoyant tread of one who has a good opinion not only of himself but of mankind in general.
The only thing that disturbed his mind was the fact that, swagger as he would, his shoulders, usually so square and trim, refused to fill out his uniform. It was the first time he had had it on for six months, his wardrobe having been limited to pajamas and bath-robes during his convalescence in various hospitals at home and abroad.
Two years before, when he had left a lumber camp in Maine to answer America's first call for volunteers to France, his personal appearance had concerned him not in the least. But the
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