Pittston Gazette

              ESTABLISHED 1850. » VOL. XLIII. NO. 60. j Oldest Newspaper in the Wyoming Vi lley. PITTSTON, LUZERNE CO., PA., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1893. bk Weekly Local and Family Journal. heart throbbed exultantly under a pressure of happy pain, and when he caine, an expectant nusn awaiting ma words; when she heard hia rich toned, familiar voice across the footlights, a tear did fall on the new pearl colored gloves. "Fresh tor the teast wirn spurs vai iantly won in the fray and under the domination of a romantic passion—perhaps the first. Ami he is so untried he doesn't know he has cause to cry aloud and beat his hands for joy. It won't last. It never does. By and by, when life has left a bitter taste in his luouth, he will remember with wonder and longing that he once thought one part icular woman worth this impulsive worship He'a quite capable of making a fool of himself. I know the tone. I know the look. So her nr.me's Virarinia. and she's been much to him? But I needn't laugh. Was I not just such a deliriously happy idiot once?" and tins tin're had come a rent in nis moral liber like a narrow cleft in a riven "Tbey are like herself—fair and sweet and pure. I wish she was here now." reminded Tom ot a tlower forced into a semblance of bloom by the aid of a n  ious gas, but with life and color l 'M strength missing. BILL NYE IN LONDON. him, bat common people do. For my own part, I do not care for him. Possibly that is because I am unprepared to judge, but I am not afraid to stand up here today with my hand on my heart and say that, if you will give me a good, clean tablecloth and move-it around a little each meal so that the place where I carve will come on a new spot each time, I'll give you in a week's time a Turner that by tofiching up' a' little will make people pop their eyes out. rock A blinding pain stung his tired eyes. There was a burning in his chest. The thought of readhingliis room unseen and letting sluiiilD«r blot out the medley of impressions besieging him was so seductive he quickened his steps. Just before him his bloodshot eyes flamed from a mirror. They seemed repeating the question: "Are you woijh her love?" HE AND CLARENCE ARE, IN LODGINGS "You see, my dear fellow," Delatole continued, "I know that you are fresh from a religious environment—that you are young; therefore I don't accept your views seriously. Perhaps they are but natural. 1 won't label you 'prig' and give you up. I'll only give you time. Here comes my man with some brandy and soda. Perhaps your saintship won't have any?" THERE. As he retreated amid more "bravos" and hand clapping he sent her a glowing glance, and she waved her hand to him. It was worth having lived for that moment. CHAPTER VIIL Clarence la HU Man and la a Real Nice How the spfWTows kept chattering among the denufied boughs! "Here he comas," they seemed to chirp rapidly. "Look! look! Here he comes. Oh, see! oh, see! Here he comes. Here Delatole's apartments were in the University building. He loved the weather stained pile because it was old—so little was old in New York. He loved the gloomy halls and the high, dusty windows. His rooms were a medley where discord in the extreme blended into a startling harmony. Curiosity shops had been ransacked for treasures, and he had even paid flying visits to ship chandlers' shops upon the wharves in the desire to collect antagonistic bits. Fish nets that had the salt of the sea woven into their fibers took the place of more conventional hangings. Mugs of every size and the most fanciful shapes, some of them very old, hung in a line around the mantel, each a mirror for the crackling fire below. Divans swathed in Turkish stuffs jutted from shadowy angles and held palpitating gleams from hanging lamps in their oriental, bespangled folds. His bed had curtains of pale tapestry fragrant as spice and looped up by spears. It was screened by a leathery Indian mat resembling the back of a huge turtle and suspended by hooks from the ceiling. Man Too—Attending Divine Service at Weatmlnater Abbey—Propoaed Tlait to l&TtJORDAN*-' He was waiting outside the theater, but only to say he could not return with her, and he introduced Delatole, who stood by, his chin luxuriously buried in a great fur collar. Wlndaor Caatle. [Copyright, 1883, by Edgar WD Nye.] London, Oct. 14. he comes." Was there an Accusing note irf* their shrill chorus? C-W did he from an unexplained sense only fancy it? He stole like' a . thief through the deserted halls. ,When he had locked the door of his rdoift, he threw himself half disrobed ujDon the bed and sank into a feverish, broken sleep. It was a sleep of breams. He was again in Glendenning's house, filling his senses with a surfeit of the delicious coloring, the evasive fragrance, wandering among the treasures gathered from mosques and thronerooms, the rugs everywhere changefully glowing like huge chameleon skins, the armor looming wi.th feudal significance Speaking of the Hogarth collection, I will say en passant that it was the only room ig which no artists were copying. While all the other masters had students and venerable .artists clustered about them, Hogarth's disorderly house was still. I am not surprised. 1653 Of miPPlNCOTT COMRMW, "Of course I will. You don't suppose I meant to draw such fine distinctions. Surely you understand," said Tom earnestly, and he looked away into the leaping golden heart of the fire. "Last night's events gave a blow to my preconceived ideas of life. I mean to hold to them, you see." "Rubbish! A little laxity only makes a man's nature wholesomely expand. Now, look here, Murray," and Delatole spoke impressively as he stroked his pointed beard, "I'm going to transplant yon, and to a soil where you'll grow mentally. If you don't astound us with a play even more unforgettable than 'The World's Way,' because more mature, it won't be my fault." Hay here is $45 to $50 per ton. Had I known of it I would have brought some with me. In fact, as many are aware, baled hay is being shipped now to England from America in large quan* tities owing to the very dry summer and shortness of grass and straw here. But Before turning away he managed to say in a low voice: They had reached a broad, windswept street that crossed Madison avenue not far above the square, and Delatole turned the corner. ond act was over, we reit a uttie tirea, and bis breath came fast, yet in his exaltation he was scarcely conscious of having walked. "Have I justified your belief in me, Virginia? Tell me that." CHAPTER V. "You need not ask. The public has answered, but in case yon have any doubt let me tell you I wanted to hog the audience en masse, and—just look at my gloves." He left her laughing and half looking back, and she was glad—yes, glad—of this chance that made him the guest of a brilliant man on this happy night. But something cold fell upon her heart as in crossing the street she turned her head and saw Tom striding away in the Bhower of moonlight by his new friend's aide. It was a foolish, womanly apprehension without root or reason, such as, born in the darkness, die in the morning. Fight it as she would, however, it came back and clung to her as the dampness clings to the walls of a sunless room until every semblance of cheer died under the depressing chill. •' His portrait of himself, by himself, hung where it faced his "Marriage a la Mode" v.fc te wall, and he sadly, "Did I to sach work 'ed or copied "I don't know," and Mr. Plunket eat back thoughtfnlly crossing his legs, "but it seems to me that strong speech of Lemaire's coming so closely upon Miriam's denunciation takes the ginger out of Miss Stone's lines. Tone that down, Murray, or hold it back a bit." "You have heard of Max Glendenning, of course. He leaves for Japan tomorrow and gives a farewell hurrah tonight, informal, you know. Meats on the sideboard, help yourself, come and go as you please, plenty to drink, some good stories, some pretty women. Any friend of mine is his. We were chums, had chambers together and lived a free, ideal existence until"—and a savage sneer twisted Delatole's lip still farther to one aide—"he went dowu before Madeline Sorel, the burlesqne woman. I never saw a man so madly in love. She kept running after him, too, making herself confoundedly at home in our quarters with her rouge, her songs and her cigarettes. I wouldn't stand it. We split and parted irrevocably, bnt with no hard words. He'll marry her yet—the fellows are making bets on it—and when ho does—bah!" Delatole stood still in the street. "Have you ever thought, my young friend, to what lengths a man's infatuation for a woman may lead him?" Raising his elbow he lowered his extended index finger with a jerk. "Straight down. There's no help for him." At the box office the manager stood chatting with some friends. A low, thick laugh gurgled from his lips; his face was radiant. Everything about him told of a crowded house and big box office receipts. He saw Tom and beckoned to him. , , Q II —D " —on .e opposit A +« - //* ■ Seemed to say to liimselt n devote my inspired brasl ®8 that and hope to be lo ni *n coming years?' m I I Comparatively few An " 'f■ I rf ) D ■ -» this year the tradesmei ijwl I r connt for it on the grouna ' fSfgfikj C I I staying at home to visit 1 /uSBum M it \fml I I or, as I heard a poetic.' M \li=TT r~" ~ - 1* lC~~f I Bnt I couldn't tell at a f V a 1 there were a few more MWjl&fK&J rV' mil any kind of people in _ I !p. V — had been. Oneortwomi| H / \ away by death before nigL I Ss\\\ r°w I would not know it V) litI ( )\\\ bad been here, of course, ■ ill! I "\N\ two it would be different. ~ ]*ff Antiv U A Frenchman here last W frightful and ghastly blov f$ and is still lying at the „ unconscious—possibly ti_ _The circumstance occurr ericans are here say and acthat they are -he great fair, kind of man say The rehearsal of "The World's Way" was on. Raw gaslight flooded the stage and showed the auditorium beyond, a shadowy pit that echoed every word. Tom stood near the manager, the promptbook in his hand, interring it with new suggestions for stage business and sometimes altering a line to be more effective. "Shy, are you?" he asked, with a rollicking wag of his head, an expanding wave of his white hands. in shadow, He was a large man, red freed, pale haired, one who had always a genuine welcome for himself, and whose every action was climatic. If he were only offering a cigarette, he plunged into his pocket with an air of mystery and brought forth a triumphant surprise. His uiottQJ-j uoatel back to a blur of wine and smoke; the 6oft bite of the champagne was again in his throat, its delicate tire mounting to his brain and shedding over it a confusion soft and witchlike. Nor did he forget the jesting slings at things he had hitherto viewed as sacred, nor the laughter that turned virtue to ridicule. They were recalled with the same genial palliation that had marked his acceptance of them. A question darkened Tom's eyes, and he leaned eagerly forward. glance whether "You made a wonderfully good guess at life's flavor in 'The World's Way.' But I'm going to make you taste it in trutn, tne oracmsn ana tne sweet, in short, I'm going to ask you to pitch in your fortunes with mine and Bhare these rooms with me. Since Glendenning disappointed me I have preferred to live and dream alone. But—frankly—I like you. The suite is large. We would not clash. Besides, just across the hall is an atelier left vacant since De Courcey ran away only recently to escape his debts. You'll probably find the,drapery of a departed model still upon the platform. You could furnish it as you please and have it as your own particular den." - or less here of London than there 'it be snatched , and tomor- But after I or a week or He was accustomed to the theatre by this time. For two weeks he had b6en coming and going, spending much of his time among scene painters and holding long interviews with the manager. He no longer felt resentful at hearing the text slurred at rehearsals and only the cues given with distinctness. He was accustomed to seeing the players go through the "business" like automatons, and climaxes his heart had stood still in creating arranged with mechanical exactness.Delatole had inany sides to his character. He was a rake, a parasite, but he was also a genuine artist and loved his work. He loved the somber dreams which stole in upon his solitude in this old house, in this old street. They tipped his pen with cabalistic power. When the wind howled and the snow fell, the drafty passages seemed trodden by ghostly feet, and fancy often crossed his threshold, garbed in some fluttering rag of the dead years. Sometimes he had but to half shut his eyes, and looking across his untidy desk tq the limits of the spacious square beyond see the roof tops stretoh away into a sun kissed desert, and the hanging smoke become the white tents of a waiting army. "Yon stole away from us all after matting the biggest hit I've seen in 15 years. Come, come, that will never do. You want to pull yourself together, youngster, and get cheeky, for you'll have to face the crowd by and by." "It will be different tomorrow," she said, with a heavy sigh, as she fell asleep that night. week got a on the head police hospita Ying. The rosy light, the crowd where women fluttered like bright hued butterflies, the evidences of reckless wealth on every hand, the complete absence of all restraint, had captured him, and in a mental saturnalia he heard the toasts and saw the money changing hands at cards, the refrains of songs that shook the windows and the dances that called forth screaming cheers. As half wakeful he tossed upon his bed his memory reveled in every detail of this new phase of life—a wildly joyous thing, holding no thought of the morrow, only the delight of the dear, the living moment. CHAPTER VI. " Face the crowd? Yon don't mean"— "We won't dine tete-a-tete," said De- La tole, with a dry smile, as he led Tom across Madison square. "I'm going to hav* yon m«fet soma other fellows, Cnends of mine. It will do well for you to know them." •edinthis way: He and I were talking abont thieves, etc., and he showed me a guard which he wore on his watch. It seemed very ingenious, and I was quite struck with it. "You like it?" said he. "Yes, I do. They'll call for yon. Then you'll go out with a pretty speech, and all the girls will fall in Jove with you. The last is most important, by the wjur, It will bring crowded matinees. The women keep the theaters going, just as they elect the presidents. They're the ones you want to please. You'll please 'em, my boy; you'll please 'em," CLARENCE POINTING OCT PLACE8 OF IN- TEREST. The skeleton of the playera* craft— without the simulated* passion and humor—the hardship and disillusion, were all familiar now. "A woman like that!" exclaimed Tom, with sweeping disgust. if I could market my North Carolina grass every year at the above prices I could make enough to square me on the expense of trying to raise other crops. ' The past week I have been the possessor of a valet. The doctor told me that I did not know how to travel or what to eat and drink in order to keep out of the grave, so he prescribed among other things a valet to travel with me, do chores, give my orders, attend to my washing and ironing and be general all around guide, philosopher and hired man. And he ran over a list of names, all familiar to Tom and young, like himself —artists, writers, painters and wealthy dilettanti. His heart grew large with pride. He tingled with anticipation, and tremors of ecstacy passed over him as if he had drunk the distilled witchcraft of the moonlight. The artistic world was his to enter, and De la tole, a leader, was holding the door open for him. IAke a companion picture in shadow rose the memory of the night when hB walked alone in the rain in the sore travail of spirit out of which this first success was born. Was he that man? Was the illuminated blue above him the same sky he had looked at then? „ "Any woman, if she becomes necessary to him, can kill ambition in an artist. Perhaps she does it with sugared poiaon, but the dose is sure. Oh, don't suppose I haven't loved romantically, wildly, and not a woman of the Sorel type either. The girl who fired my heart —it seems a century ago—was a lovely little thing with heavenly eyes, and I used to sing hymns with her. When she pent me a little note as sweet as her- "Yes, very much."' 7 The days were too short for all he found to do. And sometimes it was past midnight before bethought of returning to Chelsea square. He watched Tom's eyes travel half wistfully around the odd, artistic place. "Verra well, you shall haveeet." And he took it off, and before I could say Jack Robin son he had it on my watch. .1 thanked him very profusely and in a way that would have made old man Chesterfield go and jump off the dock. "Don't mention it, Bare," he  is not necessaire. I have just returned from Amerique. I need ze dam sing no longare." Yes, he loved the place, but it must go and his life there be remembered as a dream. On this November afternoon while he waited for Tom he held in his hand, which was trembling with rage, a notice to leave these self same apartments or pay a very large sum in a very short time. Curious that a man should prefer as a tenant some commonplace fellow with money instead of a brilliant critic who made cigarette lighters of his dunning letters! A few oaths that reduced creation to chaos, and a few puffs of a cigarette cleared his brain. He sat back to thinl(. "Charming," he said at length and added slowly, "but impossible. You see, I'm going to marry very soon." Delatole stared at him as if incapable of grasping the statement. He laughed knowingly, his friends joining. Then his face grew suddenly sharp and serious, something hawklike chasing the lazy good humor from his expression. The interrupted avowal of his love to Virginia had not been finished, But in a vague, happy way she understood that even that must remain abeyant to the success of bis play. Ofttimes the thought that it might fail gave him a soul sickness that imbittered his food and kept sleep away. It was not enongb to hear it praised and fed its reality himself. The final verdict must come from the crowd, the A faint tapping sounded through the nebula?. At first it seemed that Glendenning was knocking on the table for silence. No, it was rain beating on the window. But as it sotxnded still clearer and woke hira to full consciousness he opened his heavy eyes and listened. Some one was gently knocking at his door. "Yes," said Tom, and now a blunt tenderness rang in his voice, "I am going to marry Virginia Kent." "Here's Delatole. Be nice to him, and hell make your fortune doubly sure. { heard him asking for you a minute ago." "Are you mad?" and the words were a slow exclamation. I call him Clarence. He is 58 years of age and resembles me very much in appearance. It is rather amusing to see me going about over England accompanied by a manservant resembling me so closely. Elsewhere it would cause laughter, bnt here it is kindly and even courteously received, but not mirthfully. Clarence points out various places of interest to me in city or countiy as we jog along. He is not up on art very much, being a self made man who ran Bhort of hair as he finished the job. But he knows this country by heart, and thongh his English is bad enough to import into America for the use of those who wish to affect the groom of this country he is a good servant and has an appetite that will cut my visit here short by a week. If I run across anything of interest or anything new comes to town( I will draw it off in a letter next week or the week "Delatole? The critic on The Challenge?"Pelatole rose as he spoke, lifted one of the fragile glasses on the table and contemptuously flung it from him. It lay upon' the hearth, a mass of opaline splinters."Tom." came softly to him, "here are for you." v vo'ce* He started up, leaned "hisliead on his hands, but kept silence. The gay delirium of his dream departed, -aoiKht? felt sick at heart. He seemed £tr4nge to himself. The room, was katrtinge. Only Virginia outside the door calling to him was fearfully reaL "The same. See here, Murray, A little flattery goes a long way with him. If he likes you personally, the dictionary doesn't hold words strong enough for his praise. If he doesn't, he can do the wet blanket business in the most exquisite diction you ever read. Ask him to supper. Cultivate him. He's a bit of a schemer, two faced as they make 'em, and I wouldn't trust him around the corner—no, not around the corner. Ah, Delatole, how are yon? You're the very uxaa we tq see," he cried as the newcomer strolled up t® them. "What do you think of the play? Some of you fellows would rather roast us than do the other thing any day. But you'll do us justice. As I waa just saying to Murray, he can rely on you for fair play." vague mass called the public, depending upon its mood. What this would be who oould foretell? He • heard on every . hand of plays teeming with promise that ' had gone down like ships at pea with flags flying and cargoes at gems on '.hoard, of others of .only doubtftil value " that had made fortunes and established reputation?. Doubt left him no peaoe,.and the first sight of "The World's Way" found him with every sense quivering and alert. Behind the scenes the air was freighted with fever. Everybody was whispering, peeping, speculating except Tom, and he leaned against one of the wings waiting. He could do no more. Opallike glramr of excitement flickered in bis apea, nervous tremors ran through his blood, and behind an easy smile his teeth wen clinched. He could not breathe freely until the first act was over. Five minutes before the curtain went up he peeped over the gasman's shoulder and looked eagerly at the upper right hand box. He saw Mr. Kent first, stand' ing well in front leisurely surveying the house through an opera glass as familiarly aa if boxes on first nights were quite everyday matters. ▲ little more in shadow sat Virginia. Tom scarcely knew her in the new gray gowaand the feathered hat'Srife ben! rim. How pretty she wasl Happiness waa a tonic that had softened every carve of her face. Her eyes, dilated to n starry radiance, rested dreamily on the still undrawn curtain. Her cheeks were a burning pink. A tenderness swept over his heart, and the thought of all she was to rose triumphant above every other feeling. Was it not good to know that one in that crowded house was thinking with tenderness of him, not as the new dramatist making a bid for fame, but just as "Torn," whose every hope was at stake? Perhaps as they went heme he might whisper those three words that hold imprisoned in their small circle the harmony of the world. He might tell her in the crowded car, or for a moment before parting in the hall. It mattered not how or where if only he received in a word the assurance of the belief that she loved him. The first few moments following the tinkle of the bell he never remembered clearly. Save for the rustle ef the prompter's book there was absolute silence behind the scenes. The house was as still. On the hush voices swept to him speaking the words he knew by heart. The music commenced faintly like the distant sob of waves—a swaying melody painful and sweet Tom dared to lift his eyes and watch the scene; then by degrees the painful sense of trepidation left him, for this was the pregnant action he had dreemed of. Theae were the words fire laden, scorching, living—the passion that had put C» the garb of reality—the humor, sweet, surprising and irresistible. Sometimes a gust of laughter swept over the house, intermittent applause that showed critical appreciation, or dead, absorbed si- h It's so awfnlly good of you to give me this opportunity," he said, and Delatole understood all that the joyous inflection in his voice expressed. There was not much abotit the ingenuous f ottng fellow beside him'that Delatole did not shrewdly understand. It waa his custom to study the people he met and adapt them if possible to nis requirements of the moment. He used his friends. When they tired of serving him, he turned his secret enmity to account whenever opportunity offered by making them the subjects of scintillating, scathing attacks In the press that added to his fame. How Murray could serve him he had not yet determined, but his gratitude was what he wanted. Such fresh and promising material, which would easily receive whatever Impress be might place noon it, was not met with every day. So much money had gone at the gambling table; so much on the races; so mnoh in speculation. And the result? Enormous bills flowing in from every quarter, chief among them an appalling apray of figtft-es for more than a year's rent. "In another year you will be as artistically ruined as that glass." Not dreaming of the selfish motive prompting this violent objection and listening to words that were a passionless prophecy, Tom could not resist the shudder that ominously passed over him. "One would think I talked of committing a crime." And the words were breathless. C ) "There's not a hole or corner where I can borrow a third of it," he exclaimed impatiently, and tightening the girdle of the eastern robe infolding his slight figure he strolled tq the window, and through the tangle oi bare branches looked across at the snowy grass plots of Washington square. He scarcely moved for many minutes. Was there nothing he could do? Nothing? One plan after another was dismissed as impracticable until his eyes fell upon Tom coming across the park, the orange light streaming from the west behind him, making a moviiflj silhouette of his vigorous figure. Delatole's eyes became inscrutable, the smoke wreaths curled furiously around his head, and he caressed his lip with the point of his tongue, as if he had literally tasted a palatable thought. "And so you are. Isn't it a crime to throw away your chance? Life doesn't offer too many of them. Let me tell you, too, my dear fellow, that you do not strike me as one who would cultivate the virtues of patience and humility under the stress of failure and poverty. Marry now, when you have just crossed the line, before your strength has bad a fair test, and you'll not only fail, but probably break your wife's heart in a year. You remember what I said to you last night. I did not dream then that you were thinking of the madness of an early marriage; that you stood on the verge of the abyss strewn with the ruins of good beginnings." At present I am at lodgings. Everybody advises you to take lodgings here, and very likely it would be a good thing if we could always know what they were to be. Mine could be a good deal better, for the landlady "has seen better days." Perhaps I need not say any more than that. Delatole paused and abruptly laid hi* hand on Tom'* shoulder. self telling me she had flung me over for a rich fellow, 1 almost lost my mind. Ah, but that saved me. If I met her today, I'd tha%. her for it. Look at Glendenning. Nature intended him for a painter. Riches at first stood in his way. Necessity did not drive him, whip in hand. Pleasure in art was his only incentive. Even so, he did good work. Some day he would have done great work. That's all over now. He is under a spell. What does it matter if the woman who weaves it is unfit to tie his shoes? It's the absorption of love I'm speaking of—good, bad or indifferent. Once you surrender to an influence stronger than the charm of creation the richness of fancy will pale, the hand weaken, the artist be lost." The lie was spoken with impressive earnestness, suggesting a deeply rooted, long tried confidence, but was accompanied by a thumb thrupt that left an aching memory in the region of Tom's ribs. However, it is a case where the husband joyfully died about 15 years ago and left his wife a landlady with a quiver in her voice and no idea of keeping house. You see such cases everywhere, but' more here perhaps. More people connected by the eyelids with the Established Church die here or lose their jobs and leave witless relatives to cling to worldly people who are on salaries than elsewhere perhaps. IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY. "Oh, you needn't thank me, Murray," he said, with his acid smile and shivering even in the depths of his cumbersome coat gg fin icy wind swept across the square: "I'm a little bit proud of this chance to take you up, You mustn't be too modest. You are a success. You've written a play that's caught the town—a play that will live. How you did it is a mystery to me. You haven't lived long enough to know the awful truth of all you've said. Once or twice there was a pain in the place where my heart used |o be. Read what I've said of you in The Challenge tomorrow. I went out daring the act and dashed off a criticism in a beer saloon. In a tew days I'll go into the subject at some length, and— well, you'll seel But teU me now how your inspiration came. You're something of a problem to me." after. I am going to sort of look around here some more on the sub rosa, q. t., in cog., or on the dead, as Spencer would say, and jot down things here and there, after which I am going back to Cork and and other towns. He moved from the thumb's vicinity and fonnd Delatole critically examining him. Tomorrow I go to Windsor castle to stay a couple of days. Her majesty is not at home. So this was Delatole, the feared, the brilliant, the applauded. The very children were familiar with his name. Essays, poems, reviews, had trickled from his untiring pen in crystalline phrases, the pattering music of a mandolin in their light swing. He had been pioneer in reforms in the political, social and ethical centers of the country. But he was best known as a dramatic critic, a mechanio of verbal eccentricities that surprised and dazzled. His paragraphs lingered in the memory and could not be forgotten. With his pen he let out the blood in the veins of the plays he condemned, and for those that won him wove in one magical sentence a verbal crown of flowers languidly sweet and penetrating as a fall of happy tears. This was Delatole, the author, the poet realist of theater lobbies. Virginia outside the door calling to him. "You fool! Why didn't you think of him before?" he said aloud and burst out laughing. When the sedate English valet, who had almost forgotten the look of American money, opened the door for Tom, his host strolled from the window with hands outstretched. If she should see him, she would know —she might even guess from his voice— that ho was—- As Tom listened his face grew stern, his eyes searching. "Why should I ftil because I keep my word to a woman, better, truer, a hundred times, than I ttm—not a woman to retard any man's progress? She has been my inspiration. You don't know Virginia. She is more to me than anything in the world. I need not fail. I will not fail." He could not finish the thought. I am sensitive to the cold, and England is cold. People who are used to it, of course, do not mind it, but to dwell with this never dying chill at one's heart, surrounded by a pall of shivers and darkness, and darkness such as today pervades my room, and confronted by such a fire as I have, is the kind of thing that makes one beg--for death or an early steamer. "Tom, it's 2 o'clock. Are yon ill? Don't you hear me?" And now the voice had an accent of fear. A Pertinent Question. 111? Yes, that would be his excuse. And surely it was true. A dreadful nausea surged through him ;redhot pinchers seemed holding his head. Feigning a yawn, he coughed and said: "Only half an hour late!" hesaid airily in his drawling voice. "Not bad for % new celebrity. Did you see The Challenge this morning? Good—wasn't it? Here, read this." Mrs. Nouveau-Riche—What a handsome house your father has built! Such beautiful balconies! Tom blew a cloud of smoke into the air and remained silent. The words had startled and shocked him a little. They set a new circle of impressions moving in his brain. Could love wield a weakening influence? Was it not love—passionate Jove—which had taught him to see? He looked very stalwart, very determined, as he towered above Delatole, his blue eyes flashing in his intense face. Miss Juliet (with a sigh)—Yes, plenty of balcony; but, alas, no Romeo! "Who's there?" He picked up some loosely scattered pages covered with his delicate, cramped writing and pushed them into Tom's hands. Mrs. Nouveau-Riche—Is Romeo the name of that material the Tomkinses have their new awnings made of?—Boston Transcript. . . "Oh. you are awake at last. Sir Lazybones, do you know it is well on in the afternoon?" "What interest can I have but for your good?" asked his new friend, and the silken voice held a soothing gentleness after Tom's hot, strained tones. "Let us look at this matter dispassionately. You are young. You have written one play of startling strength and charm. It will bring you so much money. Alone, independent, you would have a good income, be able to mix with the world, travel a little and feed your brain until it teemed with digested impressions gathered from boudoir and barroom. The same money will not support a home and a wife except in a cramped, obscure way. Your love for her will be another drawback to earnest work. The treadmill of your dull, loving, respectable existence day in and day out in some little flat will afford no feverish impetus to your imagination. You will never write a play worth having typewritten on the inspiration offered by a baby's fists. Ah, have I not watched the mental paralysis set in before? Love is bad enough, but love and poverty"  My fire is made in an iron sconce just big enough to hold a black brick. This brick is coal dust and dirt mixed with tar or New Orleans molasses or something and then compressed. It is as incombustible as a belgian block, and when in its wild fury it turns red and is really in its meridian it is as fiercely hot as a new laid egg. "I haven't known much life," said Tom, "and I suppose I'm unsophisticated and credulous. But somehow I understand this game in which as yet I've scarcely taken a hand. Somehow I seem to know how I would suffer under the stress of the temptation I described. Some pf the words burned me as I wrote them. I lived in the scene. Within my own consciousness I loved, struggled, fell and repented with my hero." "Here we are." And Delatole stopped at a house. He made no answer. Virginia must not see him; she must not know. That was all he could think of as he eat on the edgo of the bed, his hands clasped to his hot forehead. "This will be in on Thursday morning. You see, it's a minute review of the play. You certainly can't complain." Lacking In the First Principles. It was square, solid, chocolate colored, capped by the sky's frosty blue. Half a dozen cabs stood at the door. A great jutting window on the second story was flooded with rose colored light. Percival—Father, I don't want to go to that college. It's a poor concern. /r-M Tom carried them to the window and turned one rustling page after another. Glorious worda were these—magnetic, intense. And how true!—how marvelously true! His own intimate struggles in writing the play had been divined by the keen critical understanding of the writer. The lines flowed delicately, subtly, and were sweet as incense. They throbbed in his brain; his eyes lightened. "Your lunch is ready now. Will you be out soon? Mr. Plunket has sent over a dozen or more letters from the theater." His Father—Poor, my son? It is an old, wealthy and famous institution that numbers among its graduates some of the most noted men in the land. What possible objection can you have against it? I ask Clarence to stir it up, but he well asks how one can stir a brick that is wedged in the chimney. I put on more overcoats and sit on my feet. They are so chilled that I am most afraid I will take cold sitting on them. Half way up the high flight of steps Delatole paused and abruptly laid his hand on Tom's shoulder: "I'm not well, Virginia. I couldn't eat a thing. Let the letters wait." "Goon. I like to hear you. You sounded the depths of your emotional possibilities before the water was troubled. I understand. The plummet went to $ dark depth to have given you even a shadowy insight into such intensely human mistakes and pain. Think of it, by Jovet You who've hardly known a sorrow made the women weept And that small, pale ray of promise at the end was masterly." Tom ieit a nearness to tms stranger, almost an affection, as he listened. By degrees his uneventful history was woo from him. He felt alittle abashed at its nothingness, the narrative of days flowing quietly in an unfashionable neighborhood and his almost friendless  tion. Silence followed for a moment, and he could fancy the undeserved pity in her sweet eyes. Percival—I don't like its yell.—Chicago Tribune. "Look here. Now you mustn't think me officious, you know. You mustn't, for you know I like you, Murray, and I always speak my mind. I'm frank sometimes to rudeness. You won't be angry?" Last Sabbath I attended divine services at Westminster abbey and wore my new clothes made here. There was a slight flutter of pleasure, I fancied, as I passed down the aisle. The clothes are not so loud as some that I was tempted to' get. What I wore was a subdued or sort of protested check made in a box plait jacket, with hat of same, trousers half tight fitting—i. e., tight below the knee and very full above—plaid tennis shoes and white "spats." Of Course Not. "Isn't there something I can do to help you? Isn't there something that would tempt you to eat? I must go out, but I'd like to leave you comfortable first." 0 a Jones—Was that you l heard trying to unlock the door at 8 o'clock this morning?"I'm sure I won't. But if I can't accept your biting skepticism you mustn't blame me. Are you going to tell me not to fall in love?" And throwing away his cierar Tom feitrned a careless lauch and met his companion's alert, serious gaze. "Nothing, thank you. My head is aching, that's all. A little quiet, and Til be all right. You mustn't wait in on my account."Brown (who had come in at 5 a.m., with great indignation)—No, sir; it was not.—Detroit Free Press. A Just Criticism. "You've worked too hard, Tom," cams the delicious votce with tender seventy. "The strain is telling now. No wonder your head aches, you poor fellow. I'm sorry I called you. Til leave lunch ready tor you." And she added with determination, "Now do try and eat a little by and bv." u Police Justice—The policeman says you were found going along the street wearing three suits of clothes from which the price mark had not been removed. What have you got to say for yourself? "You regard me as a cynic who reviles romance because he lias lost the power of feeling it, but you're wrong. I reason looking backward with a horribly clear vision, and I see how love becomes a weariness, a curse or a farce. You hope, dream and revel in a glorified haze. Now I have the most profound respect for youthful enthusiasm. 1 hate to „ try to brush it away; it is a beautiful thing! But it has caused more irretrievable mistakes than any other species of delusion I know of. Be careful; oh, be careful. You have made a brilliant start. If you don't wan't to plunge like a meteor into darkness and be remembered only as one who perished gloriously, keep yourself unshackled. I've done now. Come." Tom turned away and faced the window. He did not seek the park. For j ust one moment the gray picture Delatole stretched rose before him, and an acute, unmeasured despair took hold of him. Westminster abbey has a good choir of singers, who live here in town, and an organ that is paid for. The voice of that organ was very comforting to me, a stranger with sweet memories only for company, and on its velvet mantle of melody my heart rose. I believe in an honest but voiceless prayer. So this teat DclatoU. Baryrtlowes—Seems to mej jedge, dat a cop wot will pinch a man jist fer bein a little overdressed is too much of a dood to be allowed to stay on de force.— Washington Star. The man at first glance was disappointing, Tom had fancied him gray and dignified, his eyes heavy with the disillusion of life, but instead he found him only a little older than himself, small and pompous in bearing. His spare face was sallow and ended in a pointed black beard. His eyes were hollow and of that dense blackness that resists light. A sardonic flippancy had curled his upper lip to one side. "Of course there are Mr. Kent and Virginia," he said more brightly, "but I knew few people in New York. I didn't care for the fellows in college. My father died four months ago. That was my first grief, as I don't remember my mother at all. I would often have felt desperately lonely if it had not been for Virginia." He beat it back fiercely. He would not believe. But the resistance was no longer buoyant; it was forced. She gave a short sigh as she turned away, and Tom felt himself a ruonBter of deceit. He remained quite still, with closed eyes, and something very like self contempt flowered in his heart. In one wild night he bad become better acquainted with himself and the dark possibilities of his nature than in all the peaceful years gone by. "Then there is the other side—freedom knowing no limit," continued Delatole in a soliloquizing tone as he walked up and down smoking, never once glancing at the silent, erect figure in the window. "Freedom. Only those who have surrendered it know the full sweetness of that word. Every door would be open to you. You need not only be a Bohemian. A fellow like you, of undoubted talent, well looking, clever, independent and with some money would not have to knock at society's golden door for admission. It would fly open to you. For myself I hate the stiff set, but it is always well for an artist to become acquainted with every sort of human. Under conditions of this sort your artistic vein would warm and expand, your nature vibrate to change after change. The man who enters a race fettered is a fool. When I have said this, I have said all." lance*. Bat when tbe curtain U11 a sound like a thunderbolt leaped across the footlights and made the scenery quake. It sank only to revive again, its clamor ■welling like a storm at its culmination. Ah, then he seemed lifted Dp. The sound made him sick with delight. His hoar had struck. The players stood around him, a flushsH, triumphant group. "It's a go." -"A hit." '"Went swimmingly. Every line told. I never played to a warmer house." Words like these and the persistent applause followed him down the narrow passage to the street. He wanted to feel alone for a little while the raptore of triumph. They lied who said that hope was a fallacy, life a failure. The service was swallowed up by the rniorhtv whprA in tbfl dnslrvrftcesses of the lofty building, the gold and ruby and green sunbeams from the vast and glorious window were straying, but the voices of the singers and the bugles and thunder and flutes of the organ I could not forget. His Kind. "Pa, what does it mean to be tried by a jury of one's peers?" "I had not hoped for this," he said, with a grateful glance as he came back to the table while slowly drawing off his gloves. "How awfully kind of yout My conviction that yon mean it all is far dearer than that New York will read these words." Tom carried them to the window. "It means, my son, that a man is to be tried by a jury composed of men who are bis equal, on an equality with him, so they will have no prejudice against him." "The girl I met tonight? Ah, yes. Pretty eyes. Rather a dangerous sort of friend, I should think, for a fellow like you." "You don't know what she's been to me," said Tom. And then, morbidly fearful of appearing sentimental, he relapsed into silence. Weak! That was the word an elfin voice seemed whispering in his ear. Brilliant, impetuous, tender hearted, with aspiring motives, but weak, vacillating as water dimpling in new circles with every pebble thrown. As he languidly drew one hand from the pocket of the great, shaggy coat enveloping him like a blanket, Tom noticed it was pale and forceless as the hand of a delicate woman, the tips of the fingers senna brown from the use of tobacco. They were not the same, but they took me back to the time when I used to go and wait all through choir practice in order to go home at last with the young lady organist. "Then, pa, I s'pose you'd have to be tried by a jury of bald headed men."— Tit-Bits. CHAPTER YIL Dawn, a monotone In level gray, hung over the town ere Tom with the last of the revelers left Glendenning's. "Yes, I mean it all." If he woro not weak, he could not 60 easily have thrown away his shy reserve and lent his voice and ear to words that stood forth now stripped of all captivating glamour, coarse, cynical, shameful. Distinctions would not so soon have grown misty. Delatole handed him a cigarette, gave an abrupt glance at his harassed, weary face, and said musingly— "Yon don't look like yourself today. Aren't yon well?" Obtrusive. Pelatole asked no question. There was no peed of one. "I've been looking for you. I wanted a word with yon," he said, tone and glance connoissenrlike, ''Is it true 'The World's Way' is your first play?" "The first that has not died almost at birth." "Ugh! how cold it is. My blood is thin at this unearthly hour," said Delatole, lighting a cigarette as they paused to separate at Madison square. "I've often thought if I ever do assist my own departure from this perpetual dressing and undressing it will be in this gray stillness, when one seems to feel the pulse of the world. Will you be on the stage tonight?" It was so grand, so deep, so memory stirring, that for the moment I forgot my costly raiment and was back again in tne far west of America, witnout overgaiters, it is true, but with a heart full of joy and with a small gloved hand on ray coat sleeve, where I can feel it yet. "Isn't it strange," said Tom after a pause filled only with the crunch of their footsteps on the frost hardened snow, "J used to think myself awfully wretched and forsaken sometimes? I had an arrogant idea that I was the most abused fellow in New York, But after I had grouped my characters and grew to know their imagined faces, after I had knotted the tragic thread that held them, then I knew the difference. Poverty and the small perplexities of my life lost their sting when I faced the picture of a stricken soul of my own creating. No, I can never be bitter or discontented, again. I have learned a new and sweet philosophy—to accept the littlenesses of life gladly, if only peace go with them." "I'm quite well." "But you seem depressed." He liad loved Virginia as dearly as it was possible for him to love. Yet for a night lie had forgotten her. Her resistless eyes and guiding hand had not staid with him to lead him away from the flattery and easy comradeship of women unfit to breathe her name. He loved Virginia. But was he worth her love? Tom smoked for a moment in silence. As Tom spoke he felt the sensitive pleaanre all who first came in contact with Delatole experienced in some degree. The restful assurance of his manner, the flashes of his shrewd eyes, the musical, drawling voice, were all insinuatingly attractive to Tom and filled him with admiration. By comparison he felt himself too brusque, too impetuous, almost an artless savage, "Not so much depressed. I am disgusted," he said fiercely. "Did you know that I was—drunk last night?" So I went after services to tell the pastor how much I was pleased with his choir, etc., but he was gone. The world had widened and grown so There was silence after these wordi and then the rustling of paper. Tom hastily turned and saw Delatole leaning against the table, looking scornfully over each of the pages whereon the criticism was written that had so delighted him. A painful premonition made him cold, but he said nothing. fair. The years teemed with rosy possibilities, mystic, beckoning. His heart was full with a rush of joy. . „ It, teemed to him .there -never was a Delatole opened his eyes very wide and softly laughed as if infinitely amused. "Yes, but suppose—now, suppose you dine with me,'' said Torn, with a hazy recollection of the manager's advice. Westminster church is where the queen was crowned fifty odd years ago and has never since its erection or consecration given a mush and milk sociable. "I wish you wouldn't laugh," Tom said, a little sullenly, », streak of color crossing his pheek. "It was the first time and is not pleasant to remember." fairer night than this, which marled the lint important ascent in bis life. Frost glittered on the pavements like pale dost. The rays of the moon blanched window panes into squares of pearl and tfcfttcbed the outlines of chimneys and His speech was thick and wavering. Dolatole's head seett.od spinning round ft top. The trees in the square were certainly dancing a minuet. Throwi amid varied temptations as he saw now he must be, in a crowded, worldly life, would his heart remain unsoiled? Could he keep faith with her? Yesterday. without one wavering doubt, he would have said "Yes." Today he felt a gloomy, tormenting fear. No, he dare not say that the bright wave of success would touch him and its backward surge beat away 110 moral wreckage. Yesterday I visited the National gallery because it was the day when artists come to make copies of the old masters. There you see old and gray artists pegging away at copies of Rubens, and young and pretty girl artists—prettier than any of the pictures they are painting all at work regardless of passing and curious people. They are all wrapped up in their art. "Yon interest me," said Delatole. "1 most have you tell me more of yourself. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, New York won't be averse to hearing a little about yon tomorrow. After the play, if you've nothing better on hand, suppose you come and sup with mo," Delatole's eyebrows twitched; he lowered his eyes and thoughtfully moved some trifle on the table. "Ah, well, I wish 1 had known that you contemplated this idiocy before I wasted time aiid ink on you, Murray. You didn't tell me, of course. No reason why you should. But 1 assure you, had I guessed what manner of man you were I wouldn't have pluuged into such a bewildering prophecv about vouv fu ture greatness. I m not usually so impulsive," and he rent the sheets half across before Tom's voice made him pause. "Is this fair? If you really liked 'The World's Way,' why won't you say so?" "Charmed. And now go home. Murray, and go to bed. Net used to wine, arc you? You might forget my address, so I'll putmycardin your pocket—there. Comedown at 4and have a smoke in my den. Not such a fine place as Glendenning's, but cozy, you'll find." doorposts in fanciful black angles.. As *s strode «on«- sis tMo&i nngieC til tW inductive' confusion of a 4rean 3U088MI!&fi was so necessary to him. Hqwouldmake np for *11 snf ettfinb wl Ah, would 1m not? It would be sweet to lavish "But, I say, are you going in for respectability—for that cumbersome respectability that 'strains at a gnat'C Are you?" The languid curiosity of his tone was more contemptuous than his laugh. Mr. Parvnoo (at Iris first dinner and eating consomme for the first time) -rIsn't the soup thin, Mary? Pelatole's eyes were fixed upon hiin now. The burning end of the cigar between Tom's lips threw a red gleam upon his darkly handsome face at every respiration. The dreaminess softening it, the lingering tenderness with which he spoke (be last slow words, told his companion that what he bad half divined before was true—if Murray had pot Jived, at least love had not passed him by. Miss Arvnoo (with a sneerD—Yes, • -It's done so you can see the decorations on the bottom of the plate while you are eating it.—Puck.  The act bad commenced, and be scarcely paused to hear Tom's murmured acceptance. It was a foregone conclusion that a new author would not dream of refusing Anthony Delatole. He sprang up determined that a first failure should not rob him of courage. He would not think. lie could not fancy his life apart from Virginia's. I watched one young lady over her shoulder while she painted a sunset— sort of an explosion it looked like—in the Turner collection. Then I asked her what price she was going to put on it, but she called an attendant, who arrested me and confined me in the Hogarth room for half an hour. When Tom reached Chelsea square, the sparrows were chattering as if mad. Their shrill clamor and his own unsteady footfalls made the surrounding silence seem more dense. The college buildings, like great gray watchers, frowned upon him from behind a blue haze, trembling and mysterious. Tom was troubled by a strange feeling as he listened. He did not like Delatole in his usual genial, unreserved way. Just to watch the slow movements of his listless hands held an enigmatical fascination. He felt a strong desire to emulate his ease and sagacity, but underneath and through it all there floated an ill defined repulsion. Before and After# ; upon her the dainties aod elegancies that All women love. She shonla have done with pinching and woTrj ln that happy -i time. .... . mi hlT, : . f Wonderful visions these, .which Tom . mm revealed -In tie: moonlight. Stainlees, they buoyed his spiritand beckoned bim on. W hen he entered the sunny front room, lie found the round table drawn close to the window. The sun struck scintillations from the glass and eddied in swimming beauty around a bowl of fresh hyacinths placed beside his plate. He picked out a cluster and pinned it in his coat, caressing for a moment the uplifted, verfumy bells. She was a frivolous fashionable young womia with beaux galore, but one man with only a small income seemed to be the favorite. When the curtain fell, the excited audience rose and cheered. They wanted the leading actors, the manager and lastly the author. Virginia gave a little excited sob in her muff as she listened to the hoarse, irregular cry. They wanted Tom. Oh, to think of it! They were ealUnff for him as for a victor. Her A species of envy mixed with Delatole's alert attention. He thought of his exhausted sensibilities and of the jaded coiniiK*iplace which even the best and brightest in life had become to him. What would he not give to have back the youth of heart he saw in Tom's eyes? The mysterious violet gray of twilight stealing through the high windows behind him touched his young face with shadows. It was pinched, eager, watchful.• "You'll have to work hard before you win that girl," said his mother. He had walked down the street only the preceding evening on his way to the theater, and yet in a bewildered, hazy fashion he felt that between that hour They are very severe with people who interfere with artists who are working. The man seemed the product of a forced, perverted life. Something about his dark pallor and sneering lips dimly "And a good deal harder after you win her," answered his father, who knew what he was talking about.—Dotrott Free Press. } Whan he reached the theater, thf sec- [to be continued ] The works of Turner have been often criticised, and especially by the unlearned. Artists never speak severely of