Newspaper Page Text
THt F1.0WF.RS CHI tE CTWN
- / ^
VOLUME XL1V—a
V EIGHTEEN.
Atlanta, Ga.. Week Ending July 14, 1906.
50c PEff YEAR-SINGLE COPY 5c.
*4
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I Smothered In North Carolina
Is Picturesque Refug'e of PI ay-Wright Gillette
By PAUL LINCOLN.
Written for The SUNNY SOUTH.
R. WILLIAM GILLETTE,
noted playwright and ac
tor, some years ago.
broken In health and
spirit, traveled through the
mountains of Western
North Carolina. One. day,
his train halting at the
little village of Tryon. he
descended, looked about
him, was Impressed with
the surroundings, and de
cided to stop over.
Like many another artist
and man of letters who has felt the
charm of the little mountain community
(the string of whose names Is long and
the stories about whom would All many
Interesting pages), Mr. Gillette decided to
remain for a time—more, here he would
make him a temporary abiding place.
The weary actor, having In mind "a
lodge In some vast wilderness,” where he
might And rest, purchased a large tract
of land a mile or two out from the
village, erected on It what he called
his "shack.” and gave to the place the
name of “Thousand Pines.”
On the outside, save for the deep rustic
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porch and what is seen of the chimney,
the house is rather commonplace, and
unsuggestive of the unique and artistic
interior. This chimney, which is in the
ell built on to the main structure, is
picturesque to a. degree: rising ragged and
uneven above the roof the effect is par
ticularly pleasing. While within, its
broken surface affording resting places
for various articles of bric-a-brac and
utility, the wide chimney place with its
old-fashioned Iron Aredogs piled high
with the logs of the resinous pine throw
ing their warm glow on the rafters
above, makes a bit of artistic comfort
bespeaking the taste of the builder, as
does every detail throughout.
EVERYTHING ARTISTIC.
The walls within are boarded up and
down, and the small, square windows,
closed with wooden shutters. The doors
are all decorated with hand carving, their
knobs appearing to be of gnarled limbs
or roots of trees twisted by nature into
shapes fitted to the purpose; and on the
door connecting the sitting room and bed
room adjoining Is a lock of curious and
Interesting make.
The furniture in these two rooms was
made from native woods, and constructed
on Mr. Gillette's place from designs of
hls own. The bedstead, the washstand,
tables and different articles, the artist
had fashioned after the dictates of hls
fancy, but in the desk more than any
of these. Is displayed the individuality
which permitted no one pigeonhole to be
the exact width of any other one.
THE AUTHOR AT WORK.
The fireplace room, which Is sitting
room, study and dining room all in one,
is a charming apartment. Here, W'here
from his desk he turned on the one
hand to the cheerful board laid ready,
and on the other to the friendly warmth
of his quiet hearthstone, or, too weary
for either, to the inviting lounge, Mr.
Gillette wrote "Too Much Johnson,” and
regained, as hg lingered, the health he
had lost. It was the only long stay
he has ever made.
Through the winter the place has been
occupied for some years by Mr. and Mrs.
George H. Warner. Mrs. Warner is Mr.
Gillette's sister. Mr. Warner, co-worker
with his brother, the late Charles Dud
ley Warner, in the preparation of the
Warner Library, and later author of "The
Jewish SpecteV has found it an ideal
retreat for the pursuit of his literary
labors.
Mr. Gillette's visits to "Thousand Pines”
are only occasional. At these times he
remains but a few days shutting him
self away from the world r.nd permit
ting no one to be admitted even to his
grounds. Though it is said he intends
some day to live here.
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Lady
»
By WALTER E. GROGAN
♦
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*APY KAY FERENICE
looked in at the big nor'h
window. Her slight, silk-
clad shoulders shivered
with a delightful excite
ment. She tapped at the
French window, and laugh
ed. It was a pretty ac
complishment; it suggested
spontaneity rather than
practice. The man within,
frowning over an easel and
sucking at an empty pipe,
started. He came forward
md threw the window open.
"Lady Fay, by all that's wonderful!”
William Gillette’s Home, “Thousand Pines.”
:-B: —B — B — B — B — B — B—B — B—y-i
he said.
"Frank Derwent, by all that's—! You
see, 1 know my Sheridan.” She stepped
in daintily, a very little figure, outrage
ously frilled and flounced. "Shall we es
tablish a new ‘School for Scandal?' If
we only could! Rut, nowadays, scandal
requires no school. I knew you were
here. You long to ask me how, but you
can't get a word in edgeways. My maid.
She recognized you in the village—after
ten. Really, maids have so many op
portunities. They are allowed out by
themselves until ten once every week.
And if they smile at the butler the privi
lege is extended. I shouid go about
grinning at hi malways. She said ‘The
. 1 O :ir u
mysterious artist, Joe at -beVten, r
is Mr Derwent.' Dc! ^ ( No »r.* V
else knows.” ' ,
“Rut a tvoman ana a secret ”
"That's unworthy of you. Don’t you
know that we only teii secrets when
they are to the disadvantage of other
females! And I wanted to keep this,
and Elise wants to keep her place. Why
do I want to keep this secret? Oh, the
country gives me primitive impressions
that it is improper. I come to see
you in a studio—horribly untidy place,
Frank—alone. And you are here incog
nito. It's thrilling—and dear Lady Jane-
have I told you I am staying with the
Hollingtons? I am; it's my penance for
r
The Novel of the
The Novel of the
Year
Meredith Nicholson’s
Year
House of
Thousand Caudles
Begins in Next WeeK’s
SUNNY SOUTH
It Is Mystifying
It Is Thrilling
It Is A Perfect, Entrancing
Love Story
It Is Fascinating
It Is Illustrated by Howard
Chandler Christy,
Which means a great deal.
The First Installment, witH a Christy Picture,
Next Week
The House of a Thousand
The Novel of the
Candles
The Novel of the
Year
*
Year
,, Reason wickedly delightful; my doctor
'Ycn'ri' run dOWi ' (whi !. sou la
. .e something to do with. a # motor car.
which is absurd); "go and be as duil as
you can be.’ So naturally I thought 01
dear Lady Jane. I've been a thorn In
her flesh—she has so much that one has
to be a huge thorn to be at all im
pressive—and now she has her reward.
She will be shocked! Think of it. Frank!
Isn't it Cranfordish? Shocked! She will
sermonize, and I shall be flippant, and
both her Nonconformist conscience and
her droll, evil-thinking heart will re
joice.”
“Rut I am your cousin," Frank iDerwent
interposed. He was a tall, lazy-looking
man, young to be an associate, old enough
to be interesting. Many people said, that
he was handsome, some that he was
ugly, a difference of opinion which in
variably suggests anger.
“When was .cousinship a bar to scan
dal? Don't you want to know why I
have come?”
“No."
"Why not? That's a horrid remark.”
She pouted picturesquely.
“I know.” He looked at her steadily,
half quizzically, and she looked away.
Her hair, as light as spun silk, had
brought a memory sun into the
studio.
“You don't!" she said, hastily.
"We naturally gravitate toward each
other. In ot' er bodies it is called the law
of attraction.” He gave the sentence a
caressing finish. A smile flickered over
her face. “Ever since you came out we
have obeyed the law. You have confessed
to me as many of your sins as you could
remember. I have invented as many pec
cadilloes as my imagination could com
pass to match your confessions. Each
time you have been engaged I have been .
the first to experience desolation. H°w
many times have you broken my heart.’
You have even criticised my work
frankly, very frankly, and I have quar
reled with you over a frock.
"Yes, we’ve been chums, good chums,
for a long time,” she said, pausing in
front of the easel. “Don’t you find paint
ing monotonous, Frank? You are shock
ed. But I should get so tired of canvas
—and oils smell like a garage. Why
don’t you do things like Max? He s
much funnier. I am sure his caricatures
are lovely—when you know who they
are. Did I tell you Lady Jane won t
allow mo out alone?”
"Rut—”
"Oh, I started with u girl. She's
staying with Lady Jane, too. She (the
girl, not Lady Jane) has a passion for
views—one of tt">se extraordinary be
ings who go to Davoi. Plata for the
scenery and not tobogganing, 1 told
her tile view from tile Reaeon Is lovely—
it is, isn't it? It ought to be; it's such
a steep hill. Bile went at it eagerly
amt 4 came on.” She made one or two
lunges willi her parasol at a canvas
standing witii its face against tile wall.
Derwent moved it out of reach,”
"Then when you go back home, Lady
Jane—”
"Oh. no. The girl will come on here.
I am afraid she thinks you -di a wom
an. I said 1 was going to see a friend.”
"She does not know you very well.
"No.” Lady Pay acknowledged very
frankly. "She never would."
"Then we may be interrupted at any
moment ?’’
“Yes—and when Lady Jane knows that
you are here— She is scandalized at the
idea of your painting. She says there
is no excuse for a man in Brake doing
such a thing, that Jezebel painted, and
we ail know 'what happened to her. So
I shall not be able to see you again
down here.”
She really was very prejty. Derwent
moved slowly ove^ to the couch on
which she sat.
"Has it occurred to you. Pay, that
whenever we want to see each other
one had to go In search of the other?
It—it is a waste of time."
"There is the expectation."
“There is always the danger of a
rainy day.”
"Dr a sunny day. The sun is ter
rible this afternoon, end I freckle so
easily. But I don't see bow we can
obviate the difficulty. Y'ou couldn’t set
up a studio at our place. There is the
question of models—and mother loathes
tilt? smell ot paint. •ere always go to
Monte when ihe painters come.”
“No. Grosvenor square is out of the
question. There is only one way.”
She scratched meaningless ciphers on
the floor with the point of her parasol,
watching the operation intently.
“Don t you think the ‘only way is al-
ways—well, heroic?”
iLYory one has prophesized it,” he
suggested. She really was attractive,
and, after all. It would he eminently
prudent and practical. It seemed in
cumbent upan an associate to be mar
ried. Much can lie done in the inter
ests of art by an interested wife, who
is not artless. Dinner-- open doors.
A lifted cheek showed an added glow
in its coolness.
"It would be rather hard upon them to
to make them false prophets. On the
other hand, if we establish them ”
She paused suggestively.
It certainly would be a compliment
to their intelligence at once subtle and
delightful.”
And Lady Jane would be glad. I feel
that I owe Lady Jane much. She has
been my skeleton at the feast so long
It is refreshing to be familar with one’s
skeleton.”
"But she—she hates me!" Derwent re
monstrated.
1 es. She has always prophesied a
bad end for me. Think of her delight in
tlie contemplation of an end out-march
ing tier imagination. Don't frown. It
reallj is a beautiful trait in my charac
ter. I am being unselfish. Is that the
wrong word? I always do say the
wrong thing on these occasions. Never
believe that experience teaches, Frank.
Experience when varied muddles. But
it does seem hopeless, doesn't it? Every
body has expected it for ages—and the
worst of it is that I can’.: quite dislike
you.”
No, that is hopeless—no one can.”
“I have never seen enough of you to
discover your worst faults—that may be
remedied. Oh, if it is,' Frank, if. seeing
so much of you—the Lollerts will insist
upon lending us their country house, I
know, they offer It every time—I grow
to dislike you ”
“I think it will he impossible,” he
said. "But in any case we need never
see too much of each other. Of course,
I could never see too much of you—
ceia vtt sans dire—lint for your own com
fort l suggest calling to recollection the
married couples we know. They are
never bored with each other's s elcly—
tiie occasional times when they meet
must ever keep tlie.ir freshness. There
is not one circle in London, there nre
•several, there is not one country house,
hut several; not one yacht, but many. I
really think—speak for your consola
tion—that we need never meet except
possibly at our own functions and—er—
Christmas day. I throw in the latter as
a sop to popular sentiment,” * .
“You are so considerate, Frank, You
understand more than any man I know,
Whether you are considerate for me or
for yourself I am not quite sure.” Htie
spoke a little wistfully, which he did not
T v r ’t Le.
"As long as the end is reached I hardly
see that that matters," he said, cheer
fully.
"And I suppose we have reached a
real, definite, decisive • end?"
"Yes—or a beginning. There is always
a haziness about the.'e matters.”
‘‘Then we have decided. It must be
diamonds. Frank. I never accept any
thing cite—half-hoop, of course. Y'ou
had better get a few' down to choose
from. That is what I generally prefer.
And you must be very, very attentive to
me while we are engaged."
“I insist upon a short engagement. And
you will dismiss your cavaliers.’’
“All of them. Frank?”
"T think all. T have a sympathetic
heart, and I really could not bear to see
them.”
"There are sacrifices!” She sighed,
and then lifted smiling lips to him. A
tap at the window startled them.
"Go round to the door, Sidney!” Lady
Fay called out promptly, without turn
ing round. “There'.« always something
wrong with the catch of a French win
dow. How like a woman who is fond of
views to come blundering at a window
like that!” she added, ns she heard foot
steps retreat toward the croor.
“Sydney?” Derwent Inquired eagerly.
He had not noticed the face of the wo
man at the window.
“The girl, you know. Oh. yes, it is an
absurd name. But appropriate.”
"Sydney Egmont?”
"Yes." Her voice had a surprised ca
dence “Do you know 'her?”
“I did—T saw a great deal of her at ore
time,” Derwent spoke in a constrained
manner, yet there was a stragige note in
his tones. She looked up at him
quickly.
"Ah!” she said, and then mused for a
while. "Can’t you order tea? We shall
rot want it. really—housekeeper's tea is
terrible. But I think I had better ex
plain. You see, naturally, she will be
surprised at finding that you are not a
woman.”
He jumped at the chance of escape quite
eagerly, and Lady Fay smiled a little
forlornly at his retreating back. Site
smiled again, but quite brightly, however,
when Miss Egmont entered.
“You are alone. Fay?’’ Miss Egmont
demanded. She looked whitg. Lady Fay
noticed that quickly.
“Y'cs—isn't it stupid? I waited for
you an eternity. I do hope you found
ail the tree s and fields and things lovely
to look at?”
“Y'ou were with a man?”
"I—I am afraid so, Sydney. It generally
happens to be a man. I really don't
know' why—coincidence, I suppose. Frank
has gone to order tea. but I told him
distinctly that we should not drink it.”
"Frank!”
“My cousin, Frank Derwent. He Is a
lucky man—he was made an associate a
few months ago. and now—” She broke
off and waited.
“Then I am to understand—” Miss Eg
mont murmured, perfunctorily.
"How dear of you to guess! I'm afraid
It Is foolish of me, but every one said it
would happen. I suppose it will be in the
nutumn—that will mean rushing off to
town and Paris at once.”
“I-1 am very glad. Fay,” Miss Egmont
said, unenthusiastically. "I hope you will
be very happy.’’
"Of course, there Is always a chance.
And I love shopping. Mother doesn’t
—it tires her, 1 believe she Is unique.”
Continued on Fifth Page.