Pittston Gazette

              ESTABLISHED 18RO. •„ VOL. X LI II. NO. 5»- ) Oldest Newspaper in the Wyoming Yilley. PITTSTON, LUZERNE CO., PA., FRIDAY. OCTOBER 27, 1893. k Weekly Local and Family Journal. As Tom passed again through the empty theater the sense of shock departed. A lire ache leaped within him. He walked on, not heeding or caring where his steps led him. His throat was dry, a burning sob far down in it that the man in him beat back. He had been a fool, then? An egotistical dreamer? me pian aim oiinu iiko tne conceited dolt 1 was." But slip loved tne old man. Her pity for what she termed his misfortunes made her tender to his faults. Not so Tom, who had watched the pitiful little tragedy for two years. This exhausted spendthrift, this cold materialist with a dreamer's eyes, this autocrat with a voice of honey, suave, dainty, well mannered, he disliked as much as his native geniality permitted. of ILrWIll COPYKiaUT 1693 DY-J.P.UPPlNCOTT COM&W* PY SPECIAL-ARRANQtilftEHT WITH THTCT trencnant. on, it he coula out write them they thronged into his mind—if he could tell the wonderful story that unfolded itself before him like a scroll upon the darkness—might not some stand and listen? aiter all. MM so had, eh, Virginia.' tie asked, thinking how* lovely were the velvety deeps of her eyes. NYE ON THF, BRTN'Y. whicli is aoout the most miotic teature of a grownup government. We put all kinds of business in jeopardy every four years by threatening a revolution and scaring evfry trade and manufacturer to death with platforms which nobody Tom turned away in blind, unreasoning rage. His kindest critic had gone over to the enemy. If he had come to her suffering from a physical wound and she had struck him in the face, it could not have seemed more awful than this wanton tearing down of his faith in himself."It is so sudden, so strange. But, oh, there is such gladness and light in my heart for you, Tom! Tell me more, tell me all about it." WITH SOME STRIKING ILLUSTRATIONS BY HIMSELF. He shivered and looked around, emerging from his waking dream as from a trance, and almost startled to find himself alone. He leaned closer. She felt his hand upon her shoulder. His mouth, in its lithe, boyish curves, was very near her own. He Did Sot Feel Welt For a Few Day*, but He Wm Not Seasick—Music by the Band to Accompany the Conrwi—An In- | Oh, the languor of helplessness, the taunting pain of overthrow and loss, the repugnance to the necessary effort of readjusting his conception of himself and his life! Those who have known this feeling have tasted for one moment the kernel of despair. "How can I tell Virginia?" was his weary thought. "Would it have been better, I wonder? Well, perhaps. But as you read me the play I saw how you loved it One discouraging sentence spokej\ then just when you were thinking of leaving the college would have pained you too much. I couldn't say it, Tom. I couldn't hurt you so. Besides I doubted my judgment and waited." Tom threw himself on a lounge and shading his moody eyes from the lamplight watched Virginia as she went lightly from cupboard to table, noted the streak of wavering pink staining her cheek, the eagerness with which she hurried to anticipate her father's maudlin requests. What was this marvelous change? He seemed on the threshold of a secret, the door open to his hand. He was as one born again under new conditions, with keener faculties for reasoning and feeling. A fire had touched him—a fire of love. It lightened the dark places of his nature, melted the crust that held the currents of knowledge imprisoned, and he felt stimulated to walk victorious where before he had stumbled. terview With a Real Baron. "There is something else I must tell you first," he said slowly. [Copyright, 1883, by Edgar W. Nye.] In that long, sultry look she knew all. Her pulses qiiickened. a fire in hei heart. He loved her. then? Oh, he did, he did! About Half Way Between the ) Bowery and Whitechapel, Steamer Allen, Atlantic Ocean*. \ How strange it seems to be once more on the bounding billow! The weather is fine. We had an auspicious start. Only one thing failed me. The two uniformed footmen whom I had engaged to bring Their faces were so close there was a resistless impulse, a moment of confused, delirious joy. and their lips clung in a kiss that drew Virginia's heart with it. CHAPTER II. "Ah, Virginia, how stoical you are! how steadfast! how tender and passion- CHAPTER L It was the day after Tom Murray's revolt.ing a narrow iron srairwaj ai me iert. Exhausted by the demand upon his endurance, he disappeared an inch or two in his coat collar. A square room of goodly size, the broad windows opening on a low balcony and beyond the shining panes Chelsea square. It was large enough to meet the requirements of dining and sitting room, the high walls bearing the faded floral decoration of an earlier period. The stained floor from which the polish had long departed once knew the swish of flounced petticoats, tea had undoubtedly been Bipped on the rusty balcony, thennused carriage step at the curb had known the uressure of aristocratic toes. She paused and threw back her head. How fearless, how loyal she looked, as her eyes flashed and her lips smiled! ate!" he thought, a deep, warm pity rushing into his heart. He sat alone in his top floor dormitory at a table ranged with old letters, dusty books, cravats, gloves, a few faded boutonnieres, theater programmes and dog eared manuscripts roll upon roll. A small trunk, half filled, stood on the floor beside him and received his wearing apparel and books as he pitched them in indiscriminately.He thought of the play that but a short while since had been so dear a thing to him. Crude, false and sterile it seemed now. Tom's lids fell heavily. He was very white. A great sigh came from his lips. "Virginia'}  But the door opened. Tom had scarcely time*to stand up before her father came in, followed by a boy with a package. Tom was in no mood to cavil. He followed the direction of the dirty thumb, cleared the steps in two bounds and found himself in the back of the auditorium."Now it has failed as I feared. But what of that? I know you well—have we been friends so long for nothing?—and I say that when you have fought harder battles and perhaps failed again, when you have suffered more, the men and women you write of will be human. Some day you will be all I expect ypu to be. I know it. I believe in you, Tom." And he had been impatient with her for telling him an unpalatable truth, had raged at one more defeat and turned from her in bitterness! He had dared to do this! Had he forgotten how often he had seen her smile in the face of despair?His repentance, like all his moods, was quick and intense, the desire to make amends tormenting, unappeasable. He wanted to tell her what a brute he felt himself. He was conscious of a sudden warm impulse to fold her in his arms and comfort her. And yet to venture again—dare he do it? Even while he questioned he knew he must. His fingers tingled to grasp a pen. The delight of the artist, the creator, quivered through him. It was tempered by a sickening edge of dread, but still it was delight. For the first time in an empty theater in the daylight. How ghostly, solemn, crude, it was! To a nature like his, so sensitive to impressions, there was something appalling about it He felt his enthusiasm ooze slowly, the hope that had so bnoyantly sustained him fall suddenly, as if a magic cord had been snapped. The old man was aglow with pleasurable excitement. He closed the door after the messenger, crossed the room in his graceful, stately way and shook hand9 with Tom. Tom was not tidy. Cleanliness of person and a certain homage to fashion were matters of religion with him, but he coula not live in an orderly room to save his life. This alone might have betrayed He could not see her face now, but the sense of her nearness touched him with a swift, evanescent feeling of delight Something in her voice disturbed his heart again to a dawning hope and a riot of feverish questioning. THE baron—(R. Nye, Artist). | I In a little while he was again in his own room tearing the leaves of the rejected play to pieces. He flung them into the grate and touched them with a match. "I have had a pleasant day*" he said briskly. "Such a delightful coincidence! What would life be without the unexpected? Have you ever thought of that, Tom?" Afterward |D«»y8 any attention to, whll* Germany robs the poor to feed a mil Map dummies in time of peace. NOT feeling well—(B. Nye, Artist), me flowers as I sailed did not come. They had not failed me before, but I did wrong in paying them nntil they had delivered the goods. bis Celtic origin had it not markedly shown itself in appearance and temperament.The curtain was raised on a disordered scene; a pillar of papier mache lay prone across the stage beside a piano swathed in muslin; far up in the gallery the figure of a charwoman was dim and uncanny, her crooning sweeping across the emptiness; a bar of sunlight fell aslant the shadow and drank up the swirling dust. It was a beautiful body from which the soul had fled. The physical helplessness of woman! What a lovable misfortune it must always seem to a strong man! Every movement of Virginia's young figure, the subdued expression of her proud little mouth, the dauntless pose of her head appealed to him, awaking the instinct of protection until it throbbed an importunate fire in his heart. "Virginia was right," he said, his voice broken, as if he had run a long way, and indeed his inner self had journeyed to far, undreamed of heights that night. "You are false. Not a word of you shall live." If I hadn't agreed to write a history of the United States and visit Ireland this fall, I wonld take a small class in rudimentary government for a few month*, bnt I can't do everything. Dr. Bedloe, ex-consul at Amev, China, tells of a good plan adopted in .e Chinese empire for raising taxes, by means of which the government is greatly benefited, and the pride of the citizen is the thing taxed. For instance, the right to use the name Depew would pay a tax of f 1 per year, whereas to use the n»m» c. M. Depew would cost the urbane president of the New York Central and Hud* son River railroad $100. "I believe in you, Tom." A forecast of triumph rang in the words. "I am thinking of it now, sir," and he exchanged a fleeting glance of arch meaning with Virginia. "But I differ with you slightly. The unexpected can prove —well, at some moments—an out and out nuisance." The thick hair growing closely over his forehead was black as astrakhan and as waved. There was a striking unfitness between his moody blue eyes and swarthy ■kin. Dreamy, yet remarkably comprehensive in 6ome moments, were those eyes of his and at other times almost opaque. Something said or done could make the pupils expand, a little door seem to open, emitting a brilliant, bine flash, then discreetly close and the shadow fall again. His mouth was like a brave woman's, full and finely curved, and his merry smile showed teeth as white as a negro's. A stalwart, youthful figure, square shoulders that swaggered as he walked, easy strides that carried him untiringly for long distances, told of a wonderful reserve of strength. Ho was the Irishman of Milesian antecedents without a touch of the pale Saxon to blur the type. Although American born, there was probably his double among the strapping young fishermen throwing their nets off the coast of Galway. There was not time for more confidences before a light, irregular footstep sounded in the hall. Virginia hurriedly lit the lamp and looked intently at her father as he opened the door. There is already a German air about the ship, and the band is playing one on the deck also. We have a good deal of music, and it is superb too. The Germans lean a good deal toward music, astigmatism and gravy. The table groans with good things for eating purposes. I did not feel well for a day or two. It was not seasickness, but sort of a sporadic case of indigestion. Still I was pressed by all hands to eat something. Meals came closer together as we went east, and gravy became more general on the menu. For fear of a famine during the day a lunch was served three times a day in the smoking room. Then the steward, when he saw my place vacant at the table, sent a waiter and undersheriff to my stateroom to make me come down or allow them to bring up something with gravy on it. What she saw there gave a quick, strained anxiety to her expression, irresistibly touching.. "When it's of an unpleasant nature, yes, of course—my slippers, Virginiathank yon, my dear—but when it carries yon back to a pleasant time and surrounds you with happy memories—ah, then!" How could he hope that some day each of these folded seats would contain * living, thinking being who would listen with interest, perhaps delight, to words of his spoken on the stage, but coined in a quiet room far away from the crowd? "If I could help her!" he thought, with savage longing. While regarding her more intently than he knew, her eyes, those lovely eyes more green than brown and tonight more golden than green, met his in a questioning, entreating fashion, and the look stirred him strangely. A warm flood poured over his heart. His veins pulsed heavily with an incomprehensible fever never known before, and the pain of it was nervous and sweet. He was a striking figure. His small pink and white face and delicate features told nothing of the insensate excesses in which a fortune had been squandered. Sixty years of life had whitened the hair falling like floss from a bald crown, but he did not cry quarter to Time. Age had come and found him rebellious. He kept &is chin u*D and never confessed that erce premonitory tremors passed at unlooked for moments over his frame. "Do you think 1 could act It accepted anmnhfrrt'' "Tell me about it, dad," said Virginia as she leaned over him. For this was Tom's dream—to be a writer of plays that the world he loved would applaud, to be a factor in the life of the theaters around which for so long he had secretly circled like a restless moth. Her face was glorified. She looked with naive tenderness straight at Tom as she spoke—looked until her eyes fell under the fire in his. Supposing that he should put on his visiting card Chauncey Mitchell Depew, it would cost him $200, or if he thought best to add Dr. to the above full name he could do so by paying $500. Colonel would be the same. So would judge. Major would be $400. In this way it takes means in China to maintain a title. You cannot be a colonel there on your own statement that you used to be very wealthy. You must pay your taxes on these handles or surrender them. But this was in the long ago, when the house was a private mansion, before the city had crawled upward to encroach on its suburban retirement, very long before any one dreamed that the iconoclastic finger of modest respectability, first cousin to poverty, would one day steal the luster from its gilding, the color from its bricks and convert the strings of ample rooms into floors for separate families."It happened this way," and Mr. Kent ambled drowsily on, ignorant that the splendorof youth and love was eddying in warm glances around his frosty head. "I had just cashed my Check and was walking up Broadway. As I came near Bond street I chanced to look up and saw an auctioneer's flag over a dim shop in a basement. I went down. The place was packed, the bidding was brisk. Pieces of quaint pottery went for a song, old miniatures, shawls and rugs. I went nearer. Ah, how I longed for money, money, money!" He tried to throw off the sickening doubt, walked down the aisle, and opening a door at the back of a proscenium box found himself behind the scenes. Gaslight and hurry were here. Scene shifters moved about dragging bulky pieces of scenery, swearing at each other in hoarse whispers. At a desk under a flaring gas jet screened by wire a large man sat toying with his watch chain while he leisurely dictated a letter to a stenographer. A few men, whose blue shaven lips proclaimed their calling, obsequiously awaited his pleasure. Tom joined this group. A little crease grew between his brows as he fixed his eyes imploringly on the potentate who held his happiness in his hand. His clothes were youthful and unasual. A cream colored coat, worn at the seams, but ,stainless, fitted tightly, foppishly at the Waist and fell in a clerical frock to the knees. A long brown cape was folded across his breast after the manner of a shawl. He lDelonfced to the past quite as mnch as the house be lived in. As he swayed uncertainly in the doorway lie seemed to have stepped from a forgotten canvas to lDe for a single moment embodi*' 1 in the lamplight. As he had felt for a brief moment when he Btood by her side in the mysterious twilight, so he felt now, only the strangeness, the pain, the delight, were intensified a hundredfold. He drew his breath with a feeling of awe. Yesterday morning we struck the path of a great storm. We could see places along the way where the lightning had struck. We also found that, though the sun was shining, there were large holes in the sea into which we stumbled with our dampfer. A warning sun ray shot across his eyelids and flashed beyond him like a needle of gold, piercing the dusty dimness of the room, before he turned the key in the trunk. The glare from the west turned the vine pattern on the cotton curtains into copper. Against them a girl leaned, glorified by the waning splendor. Her arms were folded restfully on her breast. Her gaze was fastened on the gray college buildings opposite and the green close which gave such an old world touch to the street. A deep sparkle rested in her eyes. She was impatient and sometimes threw a glance down the tree lined pavement, where the lights in the street lamps were beginning to tremble in a network of leaves. After dinner he sat down to read. It was useless. His heartbeats were hot and thick. A medley of indefinite speculations crept between him and the printed page. He threw himself noon his bed and tried to think what he Bhould do, now that he had forsworn the ministry and the possibility of success as a dramatist had Bhriveled under that day's blight. But that was useless too. He started to his elbow and looked with excited eyes into the darkness. " You are false. Not a word of you shall live." The newspapers are kept posted, and you also have to make your cards fit your condition. Wheu yon lose ground and can no longer afford to be called judge, you must admit it. Even your tombstone must tell yonr condition and station. If I had been called judge all my life, for instance, and should keep guessing winners at the races in such a way as to die too poor to pay my tax, my monument would be permitted only to bear my naked name. He stood with bowed head watching the papers. They rustled in a swirl of wind and flame, subsided into roasmodic flickerinirs. and nothing was IeD but a handful of charred fragments light as thistle down. Dampfer is German for steamer. Early in the morning we sighted a wreck. It was an American schooner that had barely outlived the storm. I went on deck to see the remainder of the crew come aboard, rescued from death. Ah we got abreast of the hull, on which a spar or two sustained a rag of sail that "It's getting late. There's not a minute to spare." And pulling out his watch he gave a kick to the chair beside him where he had flung the long sleeved alpaca gown and Oxford cap worn by the theological students in Chelsea square. "An, lorn, aim lie waggea niS neau unsteadily. "So you have come over to us? Welcome! A guest beneath my roof is always welcome. Eh, Virginia? Why don't you smile and say yes? If we are poor, my girl, we know what hospitality means. We know tliat a crust may be divided among friends and taste the sweeter for it As sure—as sure's my name is Rufiw Kent I'd rather—I'd rather, by heaven, sit down with a friend—mind, with a friend, that's the point—to a dinner of herbs than in solitary magnificence before a stalled ox. My sentiments, young man. As Touchstone says, 'A poor thing, but my own.'" He paused, and Virginia gave an uneasy glance at the package. "God, help me! Give me my dream," he murmured, his lips scarcely moving. A sustained burst of deep toned sound from the organ floated to him through the closed doors. It thrilled him to the heart. He seemed to hear Virginia's stanch words in their delicate intonations:There lay the whole story of his revolt. He had thrown them off. But he had little misgiving as te the final answer. Surely his play was accepted else it would have been returned with an abrupt line of refusal or a chilling silence, as many others had been. And yet—and yet—he must not hope, or the blow, if it came, would fall too heavily. Alterations might be requested or its appearance postponed for a year, or this man might be overcrowded and had sent for him merely to tell him of a better market for it. A pronounced and oositive success was too sweet a dream. He felt he was not alone. It was as if a presence stood at his side, a new truth upon its lips, a gift within its hand. This system if adopted in the United States would weed out a good many judges and colonels or fill the treasury Not for an hour, nor for a night, to find them awaiting him in the morning, but forever. Until yesterday he had worn these things as the insignia of a holy calling. They were no more to him now than is a scepter to the king who has abdicated. Two students, arm in arm, fluttered past in their quaint gowns and looked up at her window. They were talking of Tom. She knew it. They were say ing unkind things of him. Perhaps they were sneering at what they called hie folly, his audacious worldliness. "I believe in you, Tom." "Do you not know me?" a voice of crystal sweetness seemed to whisper. "1 come to all men sooner or later! Some find me early and some when youth is gone. I come by strange ways. I weave strange spells. The heart that once feels my lava touch is never the same again. There is naught to withstand me. For I am Love." Louder the music rolled, higher, sweeter, one keen minor note transcending the heavier volume and crowning it like a star. The man's longing eyes brightened as he listened. The festival of harmony augmented his strength. His love rushed out to meet it like flood meeting flood. Virginia seemed playing a psean of sanctified victory fit for a crusader who holds his standard aloft, though a rankling wound pales his lips. ' '' "Poor old dad! He did want to see me in the pulpit. The picture I had taken in these togs—how he loved it! Well, it's all over for me. Goodby has been said to every one. It's all over for him too. I couldn't pain him so if he were living." Virginia threw back her head, and a confident smile lifted her gleaming lip. How they would retract it all some day! For Tom was not like them. His was an untamable spirit, only maddened by rigorous confines. These confused and burning surmises all melted into a breathless anxiety as he found himself facing the manager, who lounged with fat, good humored importance, waiting for him to speak. CHAPTER IIL It wW close upon 11 when at length he quitted the house. The mood of the night liad changed. A light drizzle filled the air. A red vapor rolled across the sky, broken in places and giving glimpses of deeper murkiness beyond. Fog horns bellowed from the river. Freight trains like dingy serpents crawled past the western boundary of the college campus and went hissing into the fog. He paused 'xresolute for a moment after the gate clanged behind him, then crossed the "treet and entered the college grounds. He had chosen to live with them for the future. How his young face and light step would brighten up the place! It was sometimes so lonely and quiet with only her father. A vision of winter nights around a ruddy fire, of delicious, slow waning summer evenings on the balcony, rose before her mind. They would be happy, she knew. He would accept her message. Until the last vibration had sunk to a caressing whisper he stood entranced. "There Is something else I must tell you first." He started up and took a turn around the room, his eyes stiffening with feeling."I wonder if he knows I've cut it allsurplice and psalter, fasting and praying. I wonder if he cares—nowP' And Tom thought of a newmade grave in a western state. "Bat you didn't buy any of those lovely, useless things?*' she interposed in a whisper. "You didn't, surely, dad? You know the quarter's rent"  "1 sent you a play a few weeks ago. You wrote me to come in today." CHAPTER IV. "Yes. to be sure," brightly. Mr. Dupont. Take a chair." "You're The inspiration did not desert him. All day and far into each night he wrote with felicitous ease. No hint of his love passed his lips to Virginia. Pride, with a promise of ultimate victory in its warning voice, bade passion wait. "Never mind the quarter's rent, Virginia. You always will drag in these purely private matters before our guests." one or the band—(B. Nye, Artist), in a few days. Wherever vanity bears the bnrden of taxation there can be no just cause for complaint. "No. my name's Murray, and the play was a 'A Family Failing.' " "Perhaps he knows better than I could have told him in life," and he felt his heart swelling, "that I wanted to please 1dm, but I couldn't—couldn't do it—because of the something within me that togged and protested and pleaded. Perhaps he knows." the officer—(B. Nye, Artist). Mr. Plunket permitted one of his red eyebrows to move slowly toward his chair. A few feet from the table set for dinner a quaint, yellow keyed melodeon stood, and here Virginia impulsively seated herself. Her fingers flickered over the keys, the music filled the room, the fainting light swam in her raised eyes and rosied her lifted chin. With a delicate impatience he moved to the stove and held out his white hands to the warmth. looked like the awning for a boy's lemonade stand, we signaled and got replies, bnt I conld not make them ont. Finally I asked an officer near me: "Does he not make ont yonr signals?' "Yes." Every morning the band plays on deck, and at evening it plays as an orchestra through dinner. It is delightful music. When I get on shore, I shall have to have a band to play at dinner time, or I shall have no appetite. The music, too, seems to fit the courses. With our clams we get very joyous music, which would indicate the happiness entering into the life of the clam at high tide. With our soap we have an Irish air descriptive of the "broth of a boy." I discovered this adaptation of music to the course. "I wrote you to come?" Then he panned, pursed up his lips, flopped his watch chain. "You're mistaken, ain't yon?' An unquiet spirit possessed him as he strode along the familiar paths. He was only a trespasser in this place where hitherto he had roamed at will, but whether he was seen or not was of little consequence. He had escaped from his quiet room into the wet, massy darkness to question himself. The vapor that garbed every tree in ghostly robes, the light sweep of the wind passing his ear like a woman's sigh, the peace here and the reminders of life on the river and market places beyond were all old and dear to him. They had helped him before."You are nothing, you have nothing now, but some day you will. Some day you may dare ask her to add her love— the richest jewel—to a measure already fulL" "Where was I when you interrupted me? Ah,'* and he took off his glasses, lightly flicking his coat sleeve with them, "I remember, I controlled myself. I bought nothing until I saw a gem that almost made me give a cry of recognition. Against the red cloth in the lamplight and dust stood a piece of statuary that I parted with in an evil day long ago." He looked at both his listeners with • dim smile, and his voice became retrospective. "How it recalled the bright spring morning I picked it up in Paris! All, dear me! I commenced bidding for it. The depression was short lived. Laughter closely follows sighing when one is only 26, clean of heart and conscience and blessed—or cursed maybe— with the mercurial temperament, the gay irresponsibility that in a crisis of life slips so easily into a plausible kind of selfishness. A chill crept over Tom and moved under the roots of his hair. Had he been mistaken? Had there been a mistake? "And can't you get nearer? He « drifting away." There was a subtle fire, a winning softness, in the face. The hazel green eyes glanced with intense life; a mysterious smile clung to the lips so proudly cut. Her brown hair, holding the gleaming russet tone seen in some dying leaves, was drawn up to the crown, where a fluffy knot gave a chic, stately touch to her small head. In charming consonance with this warm brunette coloring her skin was a pale, transparent olive. She was tall, her figure youthful, independent, her personality breathing a magnetic strength. And so the time went by with an outward seeming of eventful quietude, and October came. "He says he don't need help." "I didn't bring the letter with me. Cut you asked me to call today at 5 relative to my play." Virginia sat alone one bright afternoon. She was painting a panel for a fashionable shop that was pleased to accept her work and pay as little as waa possible for it. Her head was bent low, and a loosened strand of hair swept her cheek. Her figure in its inclined position revealed a supple strength and complete repose. "But won't they starve?" "Oh, no, I think not. Four times already we have asked him at least to take some of our gravy, but he thanks ns and says he wouldn't choose any." Without changing his position Mr. Plunket held out one fat white hand where a huge cat's eye winked and glinted. "Hand me that paper, Romney. 'A Family Failing?" Now, let's see," and the point of his brightly polished nail glanced down a list. "Ah, yes, of course. It's been declined. Didn't you get it back?" "A guest beneath my roof Is always welcome."Tom gave a vigorous shake of his long l«gs and commenced brushing his hair as if his life depended on getting out its obstinate wave, whistling as he worked. Tom took the proffered hand in its faultless glove and gave it a rough grip. The Germans are very hospitable. The gentleman who sits next to me at tabk askv.-me in the morning: For the side dishes we have selection* from Seidl. "Your guest?" he was thinking. "Yon old scamp! You don't know that nearly every penny of your beggarly annuity goes to buy your clothes and whisky; that Virginia does copying and painting when you are asleep, and wears one gown month in and month out that the bills may be paid; that my weekly payment for bed and board will be more than acceptable. Yon don't know it, and—no matter what Virginia says—1 think you wouldn't care a hang if you did. If you had your deserts, you'd have been pitched in the river long ago." With the fish we get "In the North Sea Lived a Whale." This is a little farfetched, but we do not mind it. To be sure, he had very little of his father's small patrimony left, and a very misty future "stretched before him, but the world was brighter today than it had been in years. He need do violence to his inclinations no more. It was all ended now—all that life whose demands his soul had resisted, under which his rebellions heart had strained. How he had hated the monotony of itt He a preacher, when he so loved the world and the things thereof! What a mistake it had been! •. It was not of his rejected play he was thinking. Somehow the keenness of the sting*left by failure had subsided. In fancy he saw a woman's face—Virginia's face. It seemed to float before him, sometimes the eyes hidden as with a veil, sometimes the sweet, proud mouth. "At last only one voice was heard competing with me. The owner of it peered at me through the crowd. I peered at him. Who was it but the son of a dear aid friend! Ah, it was a sight to see him look at me only half convinced. 'Is your name Kent?" 'It is, and you are Richard Monklow,' I answered. Well, he withdrew, and the bust became mine. I spent the rest of the day with him. We lunched at Delmonico's, played a game of poker in his rooms afterward. Ah, he's a fine fellow, this Lieutenant Monklow. He's just left the navy to inherit a great fortune. Oh, what a life he has had! Teeming with adventure, with experience. Lucky dog! But open the packages, Tom. and see 'The Masker.' It cost me $60 to regain it. What matter? It is worth hundreds.""Have you through the never-to-beforgotten-get-up-and-sit-down-nightwellslept?" The little maid who helped her about the house had departed, and the room was quiet, save that a tiny white kitten purred before the stove and the clock ticked upon the mantel. Aug how a clock can tick in a silent room! Question iti it answers you. Sit mute, and it voices your thoughts. Virginia laid her brush down and listened to it. There was something pathetically childish about her as she sat there, her chin upon her open hand, her dilated eyes couched under the delicate brows, mirroring the passionate regret that of late had poisoned all her days. With the fowl the orchestra plays "Flee as a Bird," etc. When we get down to fruit, the band plays "Little Peach of Emerald Hue," and when th« early rising cheese comes on the leader strikes up "Johnny, Get Your Gun." I introduced this custom four yews igo on tnis line of steamers and now lave a patent on it (pronounced paytoot n England). And as she played there, translating the triumphant beauty of her dreams into harmony—dreams that widened her narrow life and fed her soul—Tom entered unheard. The sonorous chorus found no echo in his heart. Pale beyond words, he stood quite still until Virginia turned to him. At least that is my translation of it He is just going home after a visit of 12 days in America. I asked him if he pro posed writing a book on "Life In Ameri ca." He said he thought he might do so. Sarcasm cannot disturb a man with a nice, pure heart. "No," wai all Tom could say. "Romney, look in that upper drawer. You made a mistake In writing Mr.—«r —Mr. Murray a letter. You're getting so deuced careless I believe you're in love, upon my soul." He was filled with this new feeling that in the twinkling of an eye had rushed over him. Was it love? Love! Oh, the ecstasy ringing in the soft v®wels as he murmured them in a tender semitone! Romney colored and stuck his pen behind his ear. He suddenly left the table last evening to go on deck and see the sunset. I wish I could think of some of those subterfuges in time, but I am not gifted that way. I do not think quickly when old man Gastric "gets his wires crossed.'' When my stomach is in the air, as it were, I think slowly. "Yes, sir, I guess I did. I meant to send it to Mr. Dupont about 'His Aunt's Legacy.' Here's the gentleman's play, sir." There was no need for speech. She, who knew his every expression, read the truth in his face. It was pinched with the pathetic revolt of the unsuccessful. The other evening the ship was makog such wild plunges that the mangers lad to be put on the table again. She would bury her nose in the sea, slowly recover, shake herself and clear the taole at the same time, and people would Co up stairs forgetting to put their naptans in the rings. During the two years spent in the old college hidden in a green, far western corner of Twentieth street he had formed no friendships. He was that marvelous, isolated being, a college man without a chum. The interests of his companions wen necessarily clerical. His thoughts had been elsewhere, his burning desire centered upon success, but by a path (that wandered far from the hush and sanctity of the church. Somehow his own failure made him unusually bitter to Mr. Kent's shortcomings. The world's hard knocks may eventually teach resignation, but who can say that while the bruise is aching the brute within us does not snarl? Hitherto he had written of love, had believed that he understood it. But tonight in every fiber he felt the illimita? ble, untranslatable difference. He had been like a blind man dwelling on the beauty of the light he had never seen—a stay at home describing the marvels of lands never journeyed through. His heart had been sleeping while in his writings he had prated of passion. Oh, that unknown man named Dupont —how Tom envied and hated him in that moment! He took the manuscript like one only half awake. He heard Mr. Plunket murmur an apology and briskly wish him good afternoon. Still he lingered, looking down at the roll of paper. She was beside him in a second. "I've been waiting for you, Tom." She was not in Tom's confidence now. She did not share his walks. The gay familiar companionship so unutterably dear was ended. He did not know—he never must know—how often she had crept to his door late at night to listen to the scratch of his impetuous pen. Oh, to press her cheek in a vehement caress against his arm—he looked so worn, so desperate! Oh, to whisper that his pain was hers, for she loved him, loved him! But instead she could only stand mutely there, her very heart melting within her. We have a handsome and well behaved young baron on board ship. He has the Heideiberg scar on the cheek, which would admit him into the best society ■ without his title. He is certainly a gentlemanly, quiet fellow. He told mt that being a baron is not hard work. It is almost as good as play. I told him that our folks had always been looked up to socially a good deal, and I realized that much is required of such people. We can't romp aud turn loose as wf 'could if we had been middle class peoplt and tradesfolk. As the old man kissed Virginia on the forehead, a pathetic paternity savoring of the theatrical in the caress, he did not dream how intensely Tom longed to call him a few hard names in sound Anglo- Saxon. In the meantime the orchestra was playing "Rocked In the Cradle of the Deep," when Herr Embonpont, who play* the big bull fiddle and is often mistaken for it, stepped up on a stool in !Drder to reach a ton note with his left nand, when the dampfer gave a lurch ana threw him on the chest of the bass viol, [t fell on top of him and nearly knocked out his young life. This is not an idle fancy, but a fact. You may ask him when he comes back to America if I am not right. In a moment Tom had the wrappings off, and the bust was placed on a little stand. The head and shoulders of a girl gleamed whitely in marble. She was represented laughing with unrestrained gayety, her eyes half closed from sheer weariness of so much mirth, her curling mouth with its range of little teeth just showing above the small mask that one daintily curved hand had pulled down in a capricious moment. "Do you think I could get it accepted anywhere? Or could I improve it?" he asked, and something in his face moved the manager to a little pity and patience. And yet there were some things of the life renounced which the artist in him would miss. The flow of music in the little chapel—how often he had likened the quivering intensity of those rich organ notes to the throbbing of his own nnsatisfied heart—the altar sparkling like an opal under the candle light on saints' days; the twilight that met one softly in the secluded paths while the chimes rose in happier peals as the darkness deepened. Yes, the memory of these would remain with liim forever. But this sweeping forgetfulness of self even in a bitterly critical moment; this reaching out to and flooding immersion in the personality of another; this madness that shook him, trailing its seductive sweetness over his soul and making him light headed; this insistent burning in his blood; this yearning newly born— this was love. Perhaps her words had stung him to such violent activity he would soon leave them to fight fortune in a wider field. A startled breath broke upon her lips. What would this nlace be without him? What would her life be? The clock answered with a cynical, knowing tick. "I have failed," he broke forth in a passionate, trembling whisper. "1 am mad, Virginia. I could tear myself to pieces." He stumbled a little and sank into the most comfortable chair, his murky eyes half closing. "I looked through it. The first scene told me it wouldn't do. Yon want the truth, and I'll give it to yon—sentiment be hanged! It's fairly good as far as style goes. Yon turn it into a novel. But wo want more tnan style on the stage. We want action—we want life," and warming to his subject Mr. Plunkct threw one ponderous leg over the arm of his chair. "We want situations— (juiet, but so subtly and intensely weighted with interest that a crowded house holds its breath to see them develop. If yon can't do that—and it's very evident you can't—write a realistic drama. I couldn't use it, of course, bnt you'll find a manager who'll take it off vour hands fast enough. "Stun your auaience with daring leaps into real running water, so that the leading man comes before the curtain incased in rubber, diffusing a dampness that makes the orchestra leader sneeze, or thrill them with mine explosions, or real engines, or bridges that move. There's money in work of this sort on the Bowery. Talk about the injustice of managers to native talent! Bosh, all of it. Are we fools? I'd give almost any amount today for a society drama written by an American dealing in masterly style with some of our pertinent social questions and holding a trne, sympathetic love interest. Or give me a startling psychological study with plenty or nre, give me a comedy that with a laugh tf-ars off the mask of society, give me a play delicate as a miniature, or give me one painted in bold splashes and those splashes like blood, and I'll find a place for each of them Booner or later. I can get precious few of them from Americans, I can tell yon. It would be better if nine-tenths of our aspiring dramatists threw their pens in the river, went home and settled down to a quiet existence mending shoes. To be frank—I say it, my dear fellow, for your own good—for stuff such as you have there, prettily phrased, but tame as a flannel rabbit, I have no use." "Tea! Ah, what is more grateful to a tired body than a cap of tea?" This was a staple remark, always delivered with gusto by Mr. Kent after a lengthy communion with mixed drinks. "The fragrance of itl The sorcery of home is exhaled from a cup of tea. But—I hope, my dear, you have something else. A chop or a bit of salad." He walked to the window and for a moment hid his face on his arm. But she did not stir save to lean her open palms upon the table, as if bracing Herself to speak to him when the first strength of his stormy despair had died. A shadowy wave of desolation rushed over her, and the room grew dark. Her hands fell down helplessly. The clock ticked louder, like a garrulous crone foretelling disaster. He flung himself into a restful position against a tree and looked over at the windows where at times Virginia's shadow touched the shade. His face had grown haggard; his eyes were alight. Oh, he Loved her I It seemed now he had always loved her. The baron said it was sort of toagh tc feel that the eyes of the world are on ont all the time, even when he goes in swimming, and that he cannot get out fron under the restraint and thraldom of so cial reform. We talked that way foi quite a spell and enjoyed it right much. I was told that it is almost impossible to keep the place of the cornetist upplied in the orchestra. I did not understand why it was so and asked a member of the staff of the steamer. He said: "You see, it is not strange when you think of it. The orchestra sits up over the dining saloon during dinner. Tha members cannot eat until after we get through. We have about 27 courses, and you can get the odor of the feaat and hear the pop of the weinflaschen for over an hour. A lovely thing, indeed, but sadly out of place in that poor room. It seemed strange to Virginia that her father did not recognize the singular unfitness. "Look," he muttered wildly, tearing the soiled manuscript from an inner pocket, "here it is, pressing like a stone against my heart. When I went into the theater, Virginia, I felt almost as if I had conquered. When I came out, I walked the streets blind. I was conscious of nothing but an awful ache and coldness." "Virginia!" fell npon her ears with a soft suddenness that startled her. The panel slipped from her knees, and grasping the arms of the chair she turned her head to find Tom standing above her. At 5 o'clock he turned into Broadway. The stream of late afternoon loungers thronged that raceway of fashion. He braced himself and looked around with eager, observant eyes, for to him who knows the town and loves it it unfold? h uue 01 never railing, never eiiuing charm. Tom felt a kinship to crowds and the swing of the surging life. The perfume from a bank of roses on the street corner came to him with the thrill of an inspiration. A beautiful woman's sidelong glance gave warmth to his imagination. He was really beginning to live. He was free. Virginia watched him as he looked across the tips of his delicate fingers in fuddled meditation and felt her face burn. Her joyouB anticipations of the first night spent together had been deplorably amiss. Tom was discouraged and silent, half angry with her and enraged at the world. Her father had returned after one of his "bad days," when the remembrance of all he had misused and lost stung him to drink and perhaps to find the ghost of his old pleasures in the hazy enchantment offered by strong liquor.The girl was laughing at them all! And to have sjient $60 for it! Oh, it was wanton, cruel! "To tell her—oh, to tell her!" was his unuttered cry. "Oh, if I had something to offer worth her taking—not my beggar's portion, not the ashes of my dreams. Virginia—dear, tender, sweet voiced, strong hearted Virginia, I am not fit to love you." "Touch it reverently, Virginia; it belongs to my past." sighed Mr. Kent. The man who sits next me at the tabU Li of a musical nature, and when th« orchestra plays at dinner he snaps hit fin iters and directs the orchestra with I stalk of celery. Sometimes he whistles the air, and thus fills his whiskers with succotash and asparagus. Often I wish that he would not do this. If I had brought my other trousers, as I was tempted to do, I would not mind, but people in London will think I've been working in a corn cannery, I fear. "I have been watching yon for a full minute," he said, throwing his hat down and drawing over a low stool, so that he faced her. "But, father dear, how—how could you do it?" she burst out with uncontrollable reproac h. "Sixty dollars, and so man)' things needed here!" A shade born of intense feeling passed over Virginia's face. Dare she utter the truth that burned her? It might seem cruel to him now, bnt in the end it would be merciful. In the hushed, masterful whisper she recognized something unusual. Something unusual in his face too. Repression was there, excitement, joy. And now a state of feeling beyond expression or definition assailed him and held him as in a coiL It was strange, subtle, exquisitely sad. The mist and rain were part of it, the blustery darkness, the troubled breath in the trees, the longing and indecision in his soul, the ache of passion, the ambition bo limitless and unavailing, the dull acquiescence of the conquered. Tom saw the old man's eyes flash, as he straightened himself from the waist: "It is enough to make a man's mouth water. It does. "I didn't hear yen come in," Virginia answered, her voice sounding thick and far away in her own ears. "That will do, my dear. 1 do nut see that we lack any of the plain comforts— which, alas! are all I can at present provid—and if I choose to add a luxurious trifle, something associated with the dear dead days, I will not," he said in a clear, studied voice--''! will not be interfered with. .Now, it you please, my chiia, we'll say no more about it. Whenever yon want to talk over household matters with me, I am always at your service— in private." Nothing more was said, and the bust was placed near the melodeon. But Virginia could not bear to look at it. Poverty was biting, their needs urgent and debt abhorrent to her. How many panels she wonld have to strain her eyes over before half of $60 was earned. A burning mist fell over her sight. She looked up and met Tom's compassionate eyes. They counseled her to be patient. Ah, what did these small briers matter since he loved her? "We have to blindfold the cornetist now, and still he has to stop every little while and 'pull for the shore,'" She moved so that the last bars of daylight fell upon her face. Her eyes met his. Ah, there was hope for Tom. He would forget this disappointment He would join the race again. He had still a lance to throw. But poor old dad! Perhaps she did not half guess what thoughts tortured him. She knew his annuity trickled through his fingers now in small personal extravagances just as the thousands had gone when she was a little child, but she could not blame him. If we should go down ere we reach the land and this should reach the hands of a stranger, I authorize him to modify the above statement so that it will harmonize with the epitaph, such as it is. When at length he came to an abrupt: panse, he stood before a stage door. It way half hidden down a small alley, and half filled with the scenery a wagon was unloading on the curb. He picked his way through the debris, stooped his broad shoulders to enter the small door and found himself the center of a quartet of grimy eyed workmen. She half stoojjed to draw back the piece of satin on which a bunch of daisies was still wet. He caught her hand and with gentle fingers that brooked no resistance took the thing away and placed it ont of her reach. I find that most every one aboard talks much of the fair at Chicago, but on general principles, while greatly admiring it, regard the American as artistically still in a nebulous or gummy state. They generally consider Washington the most beautiful city and praise her streets without limit, also her cleanliness. "And do you despair so easily?" she asked clearly. "You are holding out your hands to fame, and because she does not push her treasures into your blind grasp for your first asking you rail at her coldness. Success is worth more than that, Tom, or it's worth nothing." How merciless destiny seemed in that moment! How empty the world! The race so long, so tinng, ending—even at the best—in what? "Dear little hand!" and his voice was heavy with love, "dear, faithful little hand! Let it rest awhile here, Virginia." "For my first asking?" he stammered hotly. "1b this my first play?" Still there seems to be a general desire on board to congratulate Qermany on having the finest set of people on earth. After all, with our American boom and swagger, which is simply funny, it takes a German to be perfectly free from envy or jealousy regarding the popularity of the management of the universe. To dress presentably and drop in upon old friends for a chat and a glass of iDort, sometimes to dine with them in the club where once he had shone with unequaled brilliancy or to pay for an orchestra chair when an old comedy was presented were the surviving joys of his decadence. His friends did not know in what corner of the town he had hidden himself, did not remember he had a daughter. Frequently he forgot that fact himself. And meanwhile Virginia worked and saved, stealing only odd moments for her reading and music, practicing depressing economies that robbed her cheeks of color and sometimes gave to her deep eyes an expression of fear. He was stirred to an ecstatic sadness. Something vital quickened in his consciousness.The girl Bliivered as one does who rushes from a cold vault into the sunlight.Heroic Treatment. ' The close buttoned individnal who guarded the entrance was seated in the farther shadow against a daub representing a cottage interior. He screwed up one dusty eye before answering Tom's question, and his voice was suggestive of cobwebs: "But in writing the others you only served an apprenticeship. They were weak and false—no, don't look angry. Let me tell you the truth now and help yon if I can. Did you write of anything you knew or felt? Did you look into your own heart and write? No, Tom, not even in this one did you do that. It is better than the others, but still only a superficial study. Write of life, Tom, dear," she said, and going still nearer to him clasped her fierce little hands around his arm, her accents sounding inspired on the silence. "Life!—it is the watchword of the new school." The serenity of his fair, untempted years sank from sight, and he seemed tc look down an illuminated depth into the very heart of life. Love and death wert there; agony and sin; joy, derision, temp tation, despair; the curse of the suicide, the laughter of young girls, the sorrow that cries in the night. It was all so terribly clear. It racked him, inundated him, knitted itself to him. "Look at me!" she heard him saving in a half suppressed voice of intense exultation. "I am the happiest fellow in New York. Yon told me you believed in me. You told me that. Oh, Virginia, how those words have staid with me! And you were right. I have succeeded. My last play was accepted and by the man who rejected all the others." He would manage the universe, of course, if he had to, and there would be no irregularities, but he would stipulate before he began that he would do it in a German way. He would have it scrubbed every night, for one thing, and he would 6ee that gravy was more general. "The manager? Is it Mr. Plunket? I d'no. Ouess he ain't in." "He wrote me to come today at 5." "Did?" For a moment1 he sat in puzzled rumination, his ferretlike glance upon the ■tage entrance completely blocked. He •hook his head helplessly and then jerked f dirty thumb over his shoulder, indicat- A boj'ish langh of pure delight loft his lips, and he sank on his knees beside her. ••I'd like to set all the bells in the chapel pealing, call out the fellows and tell them the exchange was not so bad There lay her hope, her refuge. [to bi continued ] One after another faces arose, young and old; hands seemed outstretched. He heard words that contained the glory and fire of diamonds, so real they were, so Lane's Medio w Moves the Bowels Germany will soon have a standing army of 750,000 men. This is worse than a presidential election every four years, "Chuck him out into de deep water, Jimmy. He's got tor learn how ter swim, an dat's der quickest way,"—Life, "You didn't say this before. You let Whloh Is necessary In order to be healthy iMh Day.