Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME XXXIX
ATLANTA, GA., WEEK ENDING <APRIL 27, 1901
NUMEER 8
Rosalynde’s Lovers h
MAURICE THOMPSON
Author of “ALICE OF OLD VINCENNES”
Copyright 1901
ONE
iFON a broad highway,
straight and smooth, be
tween ample farms,
where the cheerful ac
tivities of spring sent
forth a medley of noises
very pleasant to hear, a
young man rode liis bi
cycle with leisurely
strokes. The small case
of alligator leather on
the handle bar looked a
trilile, worn, as if it had
felt hard usage, the
rain, sun and dust of a
long journey. From New
York city to the mid
dle region of Indiana is
not. indeed, a short wheel-spin; more
over, the weatner had been showery al
most the whole of the way, making the
roads heavy. Now, however, a perfect
morning late in April was hanging a
splendid sheen of beauty on sky and
landscape.
Frederick Breyten, the rider, despite his
many days of steady exercise,looked fresh
and cheerful. He was a man of greater
weight than long-distance traveling
a-wheel usuaTTy attracts; yet his massive
limbs showed boyish suppleness, while
ivis slightly curved back rippled with a
line play of muscles. Steering with one
hand, the other thrust into the pocket of
his short coat, he gazed right and left
over. the greening fields. There was a
ruddy underglow in his. cheeks, his curly,
short hair shot a glint of gold from un
der the rim of his cap. and his face had
a Norwegian suggestion in its fairness,
strengthened somewhat by a peculiar jet
not uncomely forward thrust of bis rath
er heavy chin, which bore a rumpled yel
low beard, short, line and not very thick,
running thence up to his ears; and his
moustaches but half veiled his mouth.
He had come out of Indianapolis by the
Hawford road at sunrise, now the city
lay ton miles behind him. There was
every temptation to fast riding. Straight
away, hard as packed gravel could make
i'. the road reached. white .snapoth. u,vnl,
without dust, a glimmering, narrowing
line to where it pitched gently down
from a slight, haUy ridge-top into a
wooded vallev. But Breyten. albeit not
averse now' and again to a wild scorch,
lagged while his gray ej'es fed upon what
the landscape had to offer.
He looked at r.is watch; it was a quar
ter past one. The air had a thrill of
heat in it, a premature touch of summer.
B> r the wayside, on the slope of a grassj r
hill r.ear a noisy little brook, a spring
trickled forth with a chill suggestion in
its crystal current. Here he dismounted
and ate his simple luncheon, drawn
from a corner of the alligator-skin case,
where it had been closely associated
with two or three little dog-eared books.
The meal ended, he stretched his mag
nificent form on the blue-grass under a
greening willow. Five minutes later be
was sleeping, with an arm curved above
his head.
About 5 o'clock Brej’ten resumed his
journej- toward Hawford. going brisklj-.
with a blue violet between his lips. The
air. drawing from the southwest, had
suddenly touched his face with n damp
ness meaning rain not far off; and he
saw a bluish-black cloud spreading up
ward under the westering sun.
TWO
April showers had so often sprinkled
Breyten's back latelj' that the prospect
of another chill dash did not give him
uneasiness, nor was there any-thing es
pecially threatening in the keen spears of
flame shot down now and again from the
cloud with rattling thunder.
When the. cloud, now tumbling along
with a motion like the undertow of a dan
gerous surf, had risen about half way to
the zenith, Breyten saw a girl on a bi
cycle whirl with a short, swift curve out
of a road tributary to his, a hundred
yards ahead. She flew straight away
from him, a beaming embodiment of
haste, something hirdlike in her motions
and in the flashes of color from her
clothes suggesting the wing-movements
of a frightened oriole.
Breyten involuntarily quickened his pace
as she began to draw away from him.
He found that she was going, indeed at
a racing gait, and against a ris
ing wind, while her fluttering
skirts, somehow showing her well-
turned ankles and little feet, gave
forth a twinkle of yellow and brown.
Tlie cap she wore had a black-and-orunge
feather-tuft lying flat at the left side
with demure effect; not that Brej-ten
could make out Just its form and color,
hut a sense of these came along with the
memory of how softlj r turned, and how
like a berry in its rich underglow, her
cheek had looked when she rounded into
the road. He smiled so much that he let
fall the blue violet from his lips.
Jork.v whiffs of wind smote harder and
faster in the rider's glowing face; the
girl’s skirts flickered through puffs of
road dust, and bj’ some indirect ray of
expression from that exqulsitelj' poised
form slipping away before him, Breyten
knew that the girl was frightened; he
could almost see her shrink when the
thunder drummed on the hollow floor of
heaven.
He now bent low over his handle-bar.
arching his hack high, stretching forth
liis Antinous neck, end driving the ped
als so rapidly that the tires purred, spin
ning the pebbles to right and left. At
this moment the puffs all combined into
a head-wind, a gale almost like a hurri
cane. driving the level stream of dust
into Breyten’s ej'es, and then the front
wheel hit a bowlder as large as his head.
It seemed to him that he sailed a long
way before he struck the ground; he had
many thoughts while spread out bat-like
in the gloomj'. raging air, end liis flight
ended in a shock amid a great spangle of
starry coruscations. His bicycle climbed
along his back to his shoulders, where it
settled stiffly upon him, as if conscious
of having the right to caress him.
The surprise was about all there was
in the mishap to disturb Breyten’s faun
like equanimitj’; but lie grovelled ludi-
erouslj- in the dust for awhile, uttering
certain virile exclamations.
After ten minutes of toilsome head-
way Breyten found himself in a little
valley through which a stream, half
brook, half river, ran crookedlj-, hut in a
general direction at right angles with his
road. A wooden bridge spanned the wa
ter. Here he paused, breathing as much
dust as air. A roaring came out of the
southwest, as if some great, hoarse
throat were gasping strenuously.
Brej-ten shrugged his shoulders; then,
lifting his bicj'cle. he made a dash down
the stream’s hank and went tuYIer the
bridge, where lie groped around for the
most eligible place in which he might
shelter himself from the shower of tree-
boughs, falling noisilj-. It was almost
pitch dark in the hollow of the crib-
work wooden abutment, a stuffj- nook,
just above the water level, with great
oaken sills half sunk in the mud. while
overhead the floor of the bridge served
as roof.
Hastily disposing of his bicycle, Brey-
ten felt with his hands for a spo'-to sit
upon. While lie fumbled thus ther-“came
a blinding white flame down from heaven
to earth with a crash, as if ail things
had been ground instantlj’ together into
splinters.
“O'n-o-o"’ yaiV'd.. a i trcnui-om -
voice: and at the same time Breyten’s
hands clutched something soft and
warm. "Let go! Quit! Oh-o-o!” con
tinued the voice.
By the fierce light, which seemed to
linger with a wavering, filmy intensitj-,
uke the sun itself. Brej-ten saw a girl
and recognized her as the one who had
fled before him. She was sitting, half
kneeling, upon the ground, her face, like
a saint’s at prayer. Her bicycle lay be
side her; so much he saw in a twinkling,
and the vision registered itself within
him, a luminous and fadeless picture.
He had withdrawn his hand from her
soft shoulder: but when the darkness fol
lowed the flash, doubl.v black by contrast,
and he heard her wail piteouslj-, he felt
around, trying to touch her again.
"Don’t he frightened,” he said very
gently: "it is safe here. And don’t you
be afraid of me. I '
He was interrupted by- another flash
of indescribable splendor and a detona
tion that made the ground oscillate.
Something forced him to liis knees, hut
he sprang up instantly; for a moment
he thought the holt had hit him on the
head, while around him in a quivering
clasp he felt the girl’s arms. It was a
frantic embrace, made strenuous by ter
ror. Certain cries, quite unrestrained yet
neither loud nor harsh, and altogether
feminine, told how poignant was the
asony engendering them.
Breyten stood still, smiling in the dark,
half conscious of a fear that even his
breathing might break the charm woven
around him. A fine thrill sprang through
liis limbs and body from those quivering
arms. It was but a minute—how long and
delicious!—then she let go and sprang
away, rising lightly to her feet.
‘‘I—I beg pardon!” she stammered, with
the intonation of a hermit thrush. “For
give me.”
Brej-ten laughed.
“What for?” he demanded. "You have
done no crime that T know of. You
haven’t picked my pocket.”
Heavy silence ensued, so far as any
sound between them might he reckoned
against it. and. in fact, the wind was
slacking, the. thunder receding. Not a
drop of rain had f.Vilen. Incredibly soon
there was nothing in the heaven over
head but trailing shreds of dark gray',
the tatters of that cloud which half an
hour before had looked so heavy and so
charged with danger.
By the sudden access of light Breyten
saw the girl too plainly for the good of
his eyes: lie was dazzled by the beam
from her fresh and glowing countenance.
"I was dreadfully frightened,” she said;
“1 always am when it lightens and thun
ders so. It is foolish, I know; but ”
“It was enough to scare you,” Breyten
interrupted, “or any person. It’s all over
now. It has blown around north of here.
Let me take j-our wheel up to the road
for you.”
"No, no, thank you; don’t, please." But
he seemed not to hear her, and went forth
carrying her bicycle tip tlie steep bank
to the bridge-top, while she followed. It
was done so easily and quickly that the
tall, comely' girl scarcely understood how
she had been mastered; but she strug
gled with her wits what time she was
mounting the slope.
"Now wait till I fetch my wheel,” lie
said.
She clutched the handle-bar of her bicy
cle and suddenly looked up into his face.
“Oh. if you please—won’t you look for
a little red notebook down there? I must
have left it on the ground where we—
where I ”
“Yes, yes,” said Breyton, “all right,
I’ll find it.”
With three or four bounds he descended
and passed under the bridge. Something
like a fairy tune was humming in his
• *, - „ ■
Upon a broad highway a young man rode his bicycle with leisurely strokes
ears; his eves were so blurred with a
rosy vision that he stumbled over his
faithful wheel. He looked about for tile
little red book, until at last he found ft,
and beside it a dainty- handkerchief from
which, when he picked it up, a hint of
heliotrope reached Ills nostrils.
Breyten reascended the bluff in such a
state of inward transfiguration that when
he again stood on the bridge and look 1
around he felt as if just r, -miner on* .
a dteam'. Hau ik really seen a lov** y
young woman, brown haired, brown eyed,
berry lipped? What had become of her?
T'p the road, down the road he turned
liis dazed. Inquiring eyes: but not even
a ribbon flutter, or a twinkle of a wheel
broke the dancing play of sunlight now-
slanting over from the rapidly clearing
west.
He looked curiously- at the red notebook
and the white handkerchief, a smile on
his mouth somehow betraying his sense
of having been outgeneraled. If a stal
wart man ever looked like an abashed
and bewildered hoy. it was he, standing
there flushed to the ear tips, stupidly
toying with what was left of the sweet
est apparition that his eyes had ever seen.
It was a month in his Imagination, but
only a minute or two in fact, that he
stood idle. Then the impulse came to
mount and pursue. She was going to
ward Hawford when lie first saw her; of
course she would be going in that direc
tion now.
THREE
Breyten entered the town from the east
in a broad, clean boulevard, not preten
tiously kept, but certainly attractive, on
either side overlooked by pleasant homes
in the midst of trees, under which a blue-
grass sward shone intensely green. The
way- turned at a considerable angle to join
a straight, broad street of the town.
Quite unlike most little cities of the mid
dle west. Hawford had an air of age and
permanence; not so much in the materials
of the buildings, mostly wooden, as in the
general effect made by solid architecture
and ample grounds shaded by- ancient
forest trees. Breyten saw no great stir
as of pressing traffic; people were going
to and fro, but not with anxiety- or
eagerness.
After inquiry he found his way to a
pleasant little hotel in the thick of the
town, where his luggage was awaiting
him. as well as a package of letters. The
first thing yvas a bath; his correspendents
could hold their breath until he got into
comfortable clothes: for no particular : n-
torest attached to what the mails brought
him. No father, mother, brother or sister
came within his memory, nor had he any
familiar friends or nagging enemies who
knew where lie was. The letters were
from agents managing his estates in dif
ferent cities.
What most occupied his mind, vaguely,
perhaps, hut in its very nook, was the
girl who had escaped so easily- at the
bridge. She had fastened herself upon
his imagination like a butterfly on a flow
er, swinging across liis inner vision, as
if tossed by a fresh wind.
It would he safe to say that Breyten
had been touched by more than one girl’s
beauty before this. He was a southerner,
with all the warmth of the cavaliers in
his blood.
It was a part of his deepest nature to
desire, as the Greek poets expressed it,
when loveliness came before him; but he
had escaped sensuality hy reason of high
health and a native honesty. As a rov
ing student he had, as it were, gone up
and down in the world with a book in his
hand and love in liis heart.
While he was waiting for the dinner ho
had ordered, Breyten walked hack and
forth in his room. A hay window looked
ntn ih« street in front, its open sash let
ting enter some clatter of vehicles along
with a pleasant country freshness. It was
growing dirk, yet against the sky pink
ish clouds were sliding, thin and waver
ing, like fading flames pursuing the sun.
The wind had roae into the southeast.
Breyten took note of these weath
er signs, for tomorrow he meant
to go out and find his girt-
Hls girl? Of course, his girl. It
is' the way- that youth has of appropri
ating maidenhood: what a young man
discovers, is it not his? Yea, to keep for
ever or to toss aside, according to his
mind.
Later in the evening, while rummaging
fer something in the pockets of his cast
off bicycle coat, he found the book and
handkerchief left in his possession by the
lair strategist at the bridge. It would
have been right good to see him treat the
, hit ..if hca-titel-ert linen as if its *.
i were a charm, as if it were a white
finwer-petal from an enchan’ed garden.
He held it near his nostrils to sniff It
delicately. Then he opened the little red
book.
You could have seen guilty conscience in
l.is boyish expression of furtiveness while
he read her name on the first page—
Rosalynde Banderet—certainly musical,
suggesting French ancestry, and Vin
eennes was not far away, as he remem
bered; besides, she had a Creole dash of
tender duskiness in her eyes. A warm
.glow pursued his blood around the circle
of his veins at the thought of her voice.
Breyten felt the temptation to read the
entries hr the book from page to page;
it was like seeing ripe berries in a cool
place at high noon: they assaulted a
primitive appetite. But he could not tres-
] t ss farther than to cateli up tlie name
lin voluntarily—Rosalynde Banderet—deli
ciously sweet, as if stolen.
And that night he dreamed, a wake and
asleep, the preposterous dreams of youth
and poetry, with the book and handker
chief under his pillow.
He did not rise early, as was his habit,
hut slumbered until nine, waking then
to see a great patch of sunshine abetting
the glare or stare of the gorgeous carpet
on tlie floor.
From beneath the pillow, after fumbling
a moment, he drew liis mementoes of yes
terday-, looking at one, then the other,
with rather a sheepish gaze, the smile on
his mouth almost degenerating to a grin.
Plainly he felt a trifle ashamed of himself
for some reason; hut the feeling could not
conquer his delight when once more he
saw the name, Rosalynde Banderet. And
what could lie do but kiss an autograph
like that? If Idleness is the parent ot
vice, it is als-o the sire of many harmless
virtues begotten accidentally.
FOUR
As Breyten was on the point of mount
ing from the concrete curbing in front
of tlie hotel, he was accosted hy a short
but heavy-set young man, who had fol
lowed him out of the office to say: "Par
don me, but tiiat is a remarkably at
tractive wheel of yours. Whose malo is
it? 1 "
The voice had good-fellowship in its tone.
Bieyten felt, before he looked up, that
he should see a comely face; but ho was
not prepared for what met his eyes. The
man was handsome, that could not be
questioned; yet the magnetism of his
countenance, which was instantaneous,
really seemed not due to any happy ar
rangement of features. It was a ray
from within, out of the darkness, one
might say, for his face was of a dusky-
olive. while "nis eyes, hair, brows and
moustache were nut-brown, with a dark-
yellowish gloom hovering about them.
“Yes, It’s a good wheel,” said Breyten
promptly. “I had it made Just to my
liking. You see. it has the good points
of all the best makes. It is a concession
in my behalf by several patentees.”
“You have come to enter the races at
cur spring meet, I presume?”
Bieyten came near demanding the
man’s right to indulge so violent a pre
sumption. He had never heard of the
Hawford spring meet, and certainly ho
was not a racing man; but there was
something in the face before him which
forbade rebuke with peremptory direct
ness. Besides, the nr an was lame, short
of cne leg by three inches, the lack filled
out with an enormous boot-sole of cork.
“No; I don’t race,” said Breyten-; “I’m
only a tourist looking at the country.”
Thus, by mere accident—or is there such
a thing as accident?—came Alfred Rayle
into the ken of Frederick Breyten, and
both men knew almost immediately that
the
the meeting meant something
strange scheme of existence.
Breyten mounted and passed out of
town, gradually increasing his speed as
tlie roadsides flaunted their rural verdure
and the country freshness began to stim
ulate him. Not once did it come into his
mind that there might be failure at the
end of his ride: nor was he conscious be
fore reaching the b’fidge th it he was do
ing a very foolish tiling; There, however,
while tiie glow of expect.1 ti’m was high
est. he suddenly saw things change as
it were from poetry to prose. The whole
landscape took on a commonplace counte
nance. He dismounted on the spot where
he had last seen Rosalynde Banderet.
Plucking at liis moustache, he gazed
around with a decidedly- stupid stare, not
enthusiastic enough to smile at his own
folly- or to recall himself from a state
of indifference.
Of course the young lady was nowhere
in sight; why should she be? Had Brey
ten ically expected her? After all, his
coming hack to the bridge meant noth
ing more than poetical impulses have al-
way-s meant.
After three minutes of blank. listless
staring around, he pulled himself together
and laughed. He propped his bicycle
against the rail of the bridge and went
below, curious to see the spot upon
which Rosalynde Banderet had crouched
while hugging liis legs. It was not a ro
mantic place, rather dirty, cobwebbed in
the angles, ill-smelling. 'A’ith his hands
in his pockets he surveyed the ground,
until a dainty shoe-print caught his eye
"Rosalynde Banderet, he thought
aloud, "i’ll find you yet.”
Then he laughed at himself and pedaled
back into Hawford, disappointed in an in
definite way, yet not defeated. He had
plenty of time, and the town appeared
attractive, viewed as a place in which
to spend a month or two; furthermore,
had not the thought of studying the Ute,
or rather experiencing the life, oi the
Middle West often interested him? You
see he was already framing a foundation
for the excuse he needed.
Instead of returning directly to tlie
hotel, Breyten made a swing round the
residence part of Hawford, taking a
leisurely survey, not so much to observe
as to think, anil mo^>t of all to let his im
agination settle.
Breyten may have been in just the
frame of spirit to he most favorably im
pressed with what he saw; but any tour
ist would have been delighted with the
cleanness, freshness, and repose of the
little city embowered in its manifold
greeneries and blown upon hy the weath
er of a day- supremely golden, balmy,
with bees in many a cherry tree, all white
with flowers—a paradise of robins in ev
ery close.
One broad street lying east and west,
tree-fringed on either side, had been
chosen, as the houses showed hy some of
Haw-ford’s most substantial citizeiis. It
w-as, indeed, a double row- of attractive
homes, which were well set back amid
their trees, with shrubbery- clumps in
profusion and broad white walks of con
crete leading straight from street-gate
to stoop.
Near the end of the street Breyten
found himself opposite a large house
which attracted his attention on account
of its unlikeness to all the others. Not
exactly venerable in appearance, it look
ed older than It really was; a stately
structure, plain, weatherbeaten, solid,
built of brick and painted drab, it stood
on a knoll thickly surrounded with wide-
armed forest trees.
Just as he was passing the drab gate
of the old place two persons, a man and a
girl, went up the walk toward the house.
The man was lame and proceeded slow
ly, leaning on a knotty- cane, while his
companion gently kept pace with him.
An absurdly unattractive little dog fol
lowed at the girl's heels, bearing itself
as if conscious of a gazing world.
Breyten knew instantly that Rosalynde
Banderet was once more under his eye.
He recognized the lame man as the one
who spoke to him at the hotel, and there
was something in the movement and pro
portions of the poor fellow's figure that
nature. Nor could there be any doubt,
after a single glance, as to the influence
Miss Banderet was, perhaps unconscious
ly, exerting over him. He was looking
at her as a child looks at a star. Brey
ten knew this by the pose of his head and
the slight drooping of his body toward
her. A stroke, subtly keen, tell upon
Breyten's breast at the same time-, send
ing a pang through his heart—a pang
mixed with joy and its opposite; for there
was a formless, nebulous pathos in the b
scene.
He could not linger gazing, and thought
of making the book and handkerchief an
excuse, for entering that quiet close did
not come into his mind; so he rode back
to the hotel. After all, he had accom
plished something, more, indeed, than he
had expected; but why this sorrow-ful
faint shadow-, this obscure taint in the"
sunshine of his dream? A thrush in a
garden hedge sang of its love with just
the same hint of indefinable sadness.
FIVE
Rayle was attempting the impossible,
trying to learn art without a teacher
and with no masterpieces from which
to absorb a sense of technical correct
ness. If he had genius, his w-ork did not
testify to it. Like the penniless provin
cial the world over, his regard for wealth
being a distortion, he looked upon suc
cess as in some way connected with a
happy financial condition. If he had
money, the rest would he easy. But he
had no money worth naming. *800 annual
ly from property left in trust for him
by an uncle being his only income save
the little lie ea-rned by coloring photo
graphs and doing a portrait once in a
while.
He took Breyten to his studio in the
upper story of a rickety building, part
of which was occupied by- haled hay and
other horse feed. A livery- stable w-as
next door, and across the street “Barney-
Hart's Saloon” was squeezed hard be
tween a bakery and a meat shop.
Breyten. followed Rayle up the stair-
w-ay, which was outside of the building
at the edge of an alley, feeling in ad
vance the pathos of what he was going
to see. His sense of humor, however,
received a shock when he entered the
room, which smelt stuffy- and looked
grimy. There were tv.-o rough easels,
a chair and a bench, a three-legged stool,
some pictures—nothing else. On one of
the easels a large canvas held a land
scape in oil. siiffiy drawn and crudely-
colored. hideously uninteresting, yet ::t
a way true to nature, not unlike a pho
tograph daubed over with greens and
browns and blues. Breyten looked
around, and a great laugh arose in him
which he had trouble to keep from roar
ing forth. Then involuntarily he turned
short and faced Rayle. who had stepped
behind him as they entered.
For a minute there was an awkward
silence, while Rayle’s dark eyes seemed to
search Breyten’s soul to its furthest
limit, and while Breyten made a great
effort to keep an equilibrium of coun
tenance.
At the point of greatest tension in the
silence an enormous rat leaped out from
a dark corner of the room and scampered
noisily across the floor to a hole near
another corner. That was the cue.
Breyten let go his hold upon all the
laughter that had accumulated. Rayle
fairly recoiled before the explosion; but
he caught himself, and laughed rather
perfunctorily ir response. He gave Brey
ten the chair, and took the stool for him-
sel f.
“I—I beg your nardon,” he stammered,
"for bringing you here. I know- it's not
interesting to you ”
"Why. yes,” said Breyten briskly: "it
is Interesting; I'm glad I came, it is a
quiet, comfortable place. We can have
a chat. Forgive my laugh; the rat was
so big and so sudden.”
Sitting upon the tripod. Rayle looked
peculiarly- crumpled and pathetic, not
withstanding his fine head and well set
shoulders. He glanced uneasily- at his
landscape, then asked Breyten if he took
any interest in painting.
"Not much,” was the answer. "I tried
it a while, went to Paris to study-,
daubed some canvas, and was a great
failure. You see I’m not a genius, and
one must have the gift. Nature first,
art next.”
A flush mounted into Rayle s cheeks.
"Yes. the natural gift is the mam thing,
they say'.’’ He spoke as if under great
restraint. "It seems to me, however,
that money- plays the big part in the
game, blow can genius find out what it
has never seen or felt or heard?
“I don’t know how. but it does,” said
Breyten. “It needs no aid."
"Well, frankly. I don’t believe a word
of any such stuff,” said Rayle with en
ergy. "Give me money, and I’ll do the
rest.”
“Oh. I don’t know about the efficacy
of money in the matter of art," Bro.vten
lightly remarked; "but we all need it.
doubtless, more than we are willing to
acknowledge. 1 squandered som-> trying
to do what you think of doing. If I had
tiiat money back now L could use it to
better purpose; but it’s gone, and I’ve
nothing to show for it.”
Ills words were meant to deceive, and
they- did to a degree; but Rayle knew
that Breyten was freer, happier, and
richer than himself, and so what he said
did not bring comfort. Besides, his leg
was paining him. and it was torture, yet
a tc.rture that he eagerly- sought, to look
at Breyten’s stalwart form and genial
face, where health, strength and activity
were combined in every ray of expression.
“I had a selfish purpose in decoying you
up here inti this hole.” said Rayl; after
a few moments of silence, with a smile
not altogether dismal. "1 want you to
tell me if I have any real talent for—
for this business.” He waved his hand
to signify that his remark comprehended
what the room was dedicated to. "Some
how I had made up ny mind, before y-ou
:poke of having studied art in Paris, that
you knew more than I about it. Now I
want you to he frank with me.’’
To be continued
