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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 'o-. 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 >...• .<v a ... a ... a ... a ... a ... a ... a ... a a ... e a a a "•••••...b...oa-.-#..-##...• .«•• •*.• .«•••..•... a ... a .«. a ... a .«- a .«. a .«. a .i • a b*b.b<b ... •». •.( 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. a ... a ... a ... a ... a ... a ,.. a ,.. a .^ a .«. a .». a .., a . Lady » By WALTER E. GROGAN ♦ b-~b—b~b—b-~b~b-+b—b-*b-~b~-b-~b-~ b—b~-b»*b *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.