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THE LIGHT
1 THAT FAILED
'Ey 'Rudyard tripling
CHAPTEIt V.
"I have a thousand men," said he,
"To wait upon my will,
And towers nine upon the Tyne.
And three upon the Till."
“And what care I for your men,” said
she,
“Or towers from Tyne to Till,
81th you must go with me,” she said,
“To wait upon my will?”
—Sir Hoggie and the Fairies.
NEXT morning Torpenliow found
Dick sunk in deepest repose
of tobacco.
“Well, madman, bow d'you
feel?" asked Torpenliow.
“I don't know. I'm trying to find
out.”
"You had much better do some
work.”
“Maybe, but I’m in no hurry. I’ve
made a discovery. Torp, there’s* too
much Ego in my Cosmos.”
“Not really! Is this, revelation due
to my lectures or the Nilghai's?”
“It came to me suddenly, all on my
own account. Much too much Ego.
And now I’m going to work.”
He turned over a few half finished
sketches, drummed on anew canvas,
cleaned throe brushes, set Binkie to
bite the toes of the lay figure, rattled
through his collection of arms and ac
couterments and then went out, de
claring that he had done enough for
the day.
“This is positively indecent,” said
Torpenliow, “and the first time that
Dick lias ever broken up a light morn
ing. Perhaps he has found out that
he has a soul, or an artistic tempera
ment, or something equally valuable.
That comes of leaving him alone for a
month. Perhaps he has been going out
of evenings. I must look to this.” He
rang for the baldheaded old housekeep
er, whom nothing could astonish or
annoy.
“Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at
all while 1 was out of town?”
“Never laid ’is dress clothes out once,
sir, all the time. Mostly ’e dined in, but
’e brought some most remarkable fancy
young gentlemen up ’ere after theaters
once or twice. Itemarkable fancy they
was. You gentlemen on the top floor
does very much as you likes, but it do
seem to me, sir, droppin’ a walkin’
stick down five flights of stairs an’
then goiu’ down four abreast to pick it
up again at half past 2 in the morning,
singing ‘Bring back the whisky, Willie
darling’—not once or twice, but scores
o’ times—isn’t charity to the other ten
ants. What I say is, ‘Do as you would
be done by.’ That’s my motto.”
“Of course, of course. I’m afraid the
top floor isn't the quietest in the
house.”
“I make no complaints, sir. I have
spoke to Mr. Ileldar friendly, an’ he
laughed an’ did me a picture of s the
missis that is as good as a colored
print. It ’asn’t the ’igli shine of a
photograph, but what I say is, ‘Never
look a gift horse in the mouth.’ Mr.
Heldar's dress clothes ’aveu’t been on
him for weeks.”
“Then it’s all right," said Torpen
how to himself. “Orgies are healthy,
and Dick has a head of his own, but
when it comes to women making eyes
I’m not so certain. Binkie, never you
be a man, little dorglums. They’re
contrary brutes, and do things without
reason.”
Dick had turned northward across
the park, but he was walking in the
spirit on the mud flats with Maisie.
He laughed aloud as he remembered
the day when he had decked Amom
ma’s horns with the ham frills and Mai
sie, white with rage, had cuffed him.
How long those four years had been,
and how intimately Maisie was con
nected with every hour of them!
Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a
gray dress on the beach, sweeping her
drenched hair out of her eyes and
laughing at the homeward race of the
fishing smacks; hot sunshine on the
mud flats and Maisie flying before the
wind that thrashed the foreshore and
drove the sand like small shot about
her ears; Maisie, very composed and
independent, telling lies to Mrs. Jen
nett while Dick supported her with
coarser perjuries; Maisie picking her
way delicately from stone to stone, a
pistol in her hand and her teeth firm
set, and Maisie in a gay dress sitting
on the grass between the mouth of a
cannon and a nodding yellow sea pop
py. The pictures passed before him
one by one, and the last stayed the lon
gest. Dick was perfectly happy with
a quiet peace that was as new to his
mind as it was foreign to his experi
ence. It never occurred to him that
there might be other calls upon his
time than loafing across the park an
the forenoon.
“There’s a good working light now.”
he said, watching his shadow placidly.
“Some poor devil ought to be grateful.
And there’s Maisie!”
She was walking toward him from
the Marble arch, and he saw that no
mannerism of her gait had been chang
ed. It was good to find her still Mai
sie and. so to speak, his next door
neighbor. No greeting passed between
them because there had been none in
the old days.
“M hat are you doing out of your
studio at this hour?” said Dick as one
who was entitled to ask.
Idling. Just idling. 1 got angry
iwitli a chin and scraped it out. Then
I left it in a little "heap of paint chips
and came away.’’
“I know what palette knifing means.
What was the piecyV”
“A fancy head that wouldn’t come
right—horrid thing!”
“I don't like working over scraped
paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain
comes up woolly as the paint dries.”
“Not if you scrape properly.” Maisie
waved her hand to illustrate her meth
ods. There was a dab of paint on the
white cuff. Dick laughed.
“You’re as untidy as ever.”
“That comes well from you. Look
at your own cuff.”
“By Jove. yes!. It's worse than yours.
I don’t think we've much altered in
■ >
" They've chucked off lead ’orse."
anything. Let’s see, though.” He look
ed at Maisie critically. The pale blue
haze of an autumn day crept between
the tree trunks of the park and made a
background for the gray dress, the
black velvet toque above the black
hair and the resolute profile.
“No, there’s nothiug changed. How
good it is! D’you remember when I
fastened your hair into the snap of a
haudbag?”
Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her
eyes, and turned her full face to Dick.
“Wait a minute,” said he. “That
mouth is down at the corners a little.
Who’s been worrying you, Maisie?”
“No one but myself. I never seem
to get on with my work, and yet I try
hard enough, and Kami says”—
“ ‘Oontlnnez, mesdemolselles. Con
tinuez toujours, mes enfants.’ Kami is
depressing. I beg your pardon.”
“Yes. that's what he says. He told
me last summer that I was doing bet
ter, and he’d let me exhibit this year.”
“Not in this place, surely?”
“Of course not. The salon.”
“You fly high.”
“I’ve been beating my wings long
enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?”
“I don’t exhibit. I sell.”
“What Is your line, then?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Dick’s eyes
opened. Was this thing possible? He
cast about for some means of convic
tion. They were not far from the
Marble arch. “Come up Oxford street
a little, and I’ll show you.”
A small knot of people stood round
a printshop that Dick knew well.
“Some reproduction of my work in
side,” he said, with suppressed tri
umph. Never bad success tasted so
sweet upon the tongue. “You see the
sort of things I paint. D’you like
them ?”
Maisie looked at the wild, whirling
rush of a field battery going into ac
tion under fire. Two artillerymen stood
behind her in the crowd.
“They’ve chucked off lead ’orse,” said
one to the other. “ ’E's tore up awful,
but they’re making good time with the
others. That lead driver drives better
nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunning ’e’s
nursing ’is ’orse.”
“No. 3 ’ll be off the limber next jolt,”
was the answer.
"No, ’e won’t. See ’ow ’is foot’s
braced against the iron. ’E's all right.”
Dick watched Maisie’s face and
swelled with joy—fine, rank, vulgar
triumph. She was more interested in
the little crowd than in the picture.
That was something that she could un
derstand.
“And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want
it so!” she said at last under her
breath.
“Me—all me!” said Dick placidly.
“Look at their faces. It hits ’em.
They don’t know what makes their
eyes and mouths open, but I know,
and I know my work's right.”
“Yes, 1 see. Oh, what a tbiug to
have come to one!”
“Come to one, indeed! I had to go
out and look for it. What do you
think?”
“I call it success. Tell me how you
got it.”
They returned to the park, and Dick
delivered himself of the fc?aga of his
own doings with all the arrogance of
a young man speaking to a woman.
From the beginning he told the tale, the
I, I, Is flashing through the records as
telegraph poles fly past the traveler.
Maisie listened and nodded her head.
The histories of strife and privation
did not move her a hair's breadth. At
the end of each canto he would con
clude, "and that gave me some notion
of handling color,” or light or whatever
it might be that he had set out to pur
sue and understand.
lie led her, breathless, across Half the
world, speaking its he had never spo
ken in his life before, and in the flood
tide of his exaltation there came upon
him a great desire to pick up this maid
en who nodded her head and said: “I
understand. (Jo on”—to pick her up and
carry her away with him because she
was Maisie, and because she under
stood, and because she was his right,
and a woman to he desired above all
women.
Then lie checked himself abruptly.
“And so I took all I wanted,” he said,
“and I had to fight for it. Now you
tell.”
Maisie’s tale was almost as gray as
her dress. It covered years of patient
toil backed by savage pride that would
not be broken though dealers laughed,
and fogs delayed work, and Kami was
unkind and even sarcastic, and girls in
other studios were painfully polite. It
had a few bright spots—pictures ac
cepted at provincial exhibitions—but it
wound up with the oft repeated wail,
“And so you see, Dick, 3 had no suc
cess, though I worked so hard.”
Then pity filled Dick. Even thus
had Maisie spoken when she could not
hit the breakwater, half an hour before
she had kissed him. And that had hap
pened yesterday.
“Never mind,” said he; “I’ll tell you
something if you’ll believe it.” The
words were shaping themselves of their
own accord. “The whole thing—lock,
stock and barrel—isn’t worth one big
yellow sea poppy below Fort Keeling.”
Maisie flushed a little. “It’s all very
well for you to talk, but you’ve had the
success, and I haven’t.”
“Let me talk, then. I know you’ll
understand, Maisie dear, it sounds a bit
absurd, but those ten years never ex
isted, and I’ve come back again. It
really is just the same. Can’t you see?
Y’ou're alone now and I’m alone.
What’s the use of worrying? Come to
me instead, darling.”
Maizie poked the gravel with her
parasol. They were sitting on a bench.
“1 understand,” she said slowly. “But
I’ve got my work to do, and I must do
it”
“Do it with me, then, dear. I won’t
interrupt.”
“No, I couldn’t. It’s my work—mine
—mine—mine! I’ve been alone all my
life in myself, and I’m not going to be
long to anybody except myself. I re
member things as well as you do, but
that doesn't count. We were babies
then, and we didn't kfiow w r hat was
before us. Dick, don’t be selfish. I
think I see my way to a little success
next year. Don’t take it away from
me.”
“I beg your pardon, darling. It is my
fault for speaking idiotically. I can't
expect you to throw up all your life
just because I’m back. I’ll go to my
own place and wait U little.”
“But, Dick, I don't want you to—go
out of—my life, now T that you’ve just
come back.”
“I’m at your orders. Forgive me.”
Dick devoured the troubled little face
xvith bis eyes. There was triumph iu
them, because he could not conceive
how Maisie could refuse sooner or later
to love him, since he loved her.
“It’s wrong of me,” said Maisie, more
slowly than before. “It’ll wrong and
selfish, but—oh, I’ve been so lonely!
No, you misunderstand. Now I’ve seen
you again—it’s' absurd, but I want to
keep you in my life.”
“Naturally. We belong.”
“We don’t, but you always under
stood me, and there is so much In my
work that you could help me In. You
know things, and the ways of doing
things. You must.”
“I do, I fancy, or else I don’t know
myself. Then I suppose you won’t care
to lose sight of me altogether, and you
want nte to help you in your work?”
“Yes, but remember, Dick, nothing
will ever come of it. That’s why I feel
so selfish. Let things stay as they are.
I do want your help.”
“Y’ou shall have it. But let’s con
sider. I must see your pies first, and
overhaul your sketches and find out
about your tendencies. You should see
what the papers say about my tenden
cies. Then I'll give you good advice,
and you shall paint accordingly. Isn’t
that it, Maisie?”
Again there was unholy triumph in
Dick’s eyes.
“It’s too good of you—much too good
—because you are consoling yourself
with what will never happen, and I
know that, and yet I wish to keep you.
Don’t blame me' later, please.”
“I'm going into the matter with my
eyes open. Moreover, the queen can
do no wrong. It isn't your selfishness
that impresses me. It’s your audacity
in proposing to make use of me.”
“Pooh! You’re only Dick —and a
printshop.”
“Very good. That's all I am. But,
Maisie. you believe, don't you, that I
love you? 1 don't want you to have
any false notions about brothers and
sisters.”
Maisie looked up for a moment and
dropped her eyes.
“It's absurd, bat—l believe. I wish 1
could send you away before you get
angry with me. But—but the girl that
lives with me is red haired and an im
pressionist. and nil our notions clash.”
“So do on; i think. Never mind
Three months from tod Axe sl.a..
laughing at this together."
Maisie sho.-'i her h aul :'ournful!;
“I knew you w -ni . undn u.d. ■
it will only hurt vo : m. re \, „ n y<
find out. Look at my face, Dick, and
tell me what you see.”
They stood up and faced each other
for a moment. The fog was gathering,
and it stifled the roar of the traffic of
London beyond the • railings. Dick
brought all his painfully acquired
knowledge of faces to bear on the eyes,
mouth and chin underneath the black
toque.
"It's the same Maisie. and M’s the
same me,” he said. "We’ve hath nice
little wills of our own, and one or
other of us has to be broken. Now
about the future. 1 must come and see
your pictures some day—l suppose
when the red haired girl is on the
premises.”
"Sundays are my best times. You
must come on Sundays. There are
such heaps of things I want to talk
about and ask your advice about. Now
1 must get back to work.”
"Try to find out before next Sunday
what 1 am,” said Dick. “Don’t take
my word for anything I've told you.
Goodby, darhite. and bless you.”
Maisie siHe away like a little gray
mouse. Dick watched her till she was
out of sight,*but he did not hear her
say to herself very soberly: “I'm a
wretch—a horrid, selfish wretch. But
it’s Dick, and Dick will understand.”
No one has yet explained what actu
ally happens when an irresistible force
meets the immovable post, though
many have thought deeply, even as
Dick thought. He tried to assure him
self that Maisie would be led in a few
weeks by his mere presence and dis
course to a better way of thinking.
Then lie remembered much too dis
tinctly her face and all that was writ
ten on it.
“If I know anything of heads,” he
said, “there’s everything in that face
but love. I shall have to put that in
myself. And that chin and mouth
won’t be won for nothing. But she’s
right. She knows what she wants, and
she’s going to get it. What insolence!
Me! Of all the people in the wide
world to use me! But then she’s Mai
sie. There’s no getting over that fact,
and it’s good to see her again. This
business must have been simmering at
the back of my head for years. She’ll
use me as I used Binat at Port Said.
She’s quite right. It will hurt a little.
I shall have to see her every Sunday,
like a young man courting a house
maid. She’s sure to come roi*nd. And
yet that mouth isn’t a yielding mouth.
I shall be wanting to all the
time, and I shall have to look at her
pictures—l don’t even know what sort
of work she does yet—and I shall have
to talk about art—woman's art! There
fore, particularly and perpetually damn
all varieties of art. It did me a good
turn once, and now it’s in my way.
I’ll go home and do some art.”
Half way to the studio Dick was
smitten with a terrible thought The
figure of a solitary woman in the fog
suggested it.
“She’s all alone in Loudon with a red
haired impressionist girl, who probably
has the digestion of an ostrich. Most
red haired people have. Maisie’s a bil
ious little body. They’ll eat like lone
women—meals at all hours and tea
with all meals. I remember how the
students in Paris used to pig along.
She may fall ill at any minute, and I
shan’t be able to help. Whew! This
is ten times worse than owning a wife!”
Torpenliow came into the studio at
dusk and looked at Dick, with his eyes
full of the austere love that springs up
between men who have tugged at the
same oar together and are yoked hy
custom and use and the intimacies of
toil. This is a good love, and, since it
allows and even encourages strife, re
crimination and the most brutal sin
cerity, does not die, but increases and
is proof against any absence and evil*
conduct.
Dick was silent after he handed Tor
penhow the filled pipe of council. He
thought of Maisie and her possible
needs. It was anew, thing to think of
anybody but Torpenhow, who could
think for himself. Here at last was
an outlet for that cash balance. He
could UdOro Maisie barbarlcally with
Jewelry—a thick gold necklace round
that little neck, bracelets upon the
rounded arms and rings of price upon
her hands—the cool, temperate, ring
less hands that he had taken between
his own.
It was an absurd thought, for Maisie
would not even allow him to put one
ring on one finger, and she would laugh
at golden trappings. It would be bet
ter to sit with her quietly in the dusk,
his arm round her neck and her face on
his shoulder, as befitted husband and
wife. Torpenhow’s boots creaked that
night, and his strong voice jarred.
Dick's brows contracted, and he mur
mured an evil word because be had
taken all his success as a right and
part payment for past discomfort, and
now he was checked in Lis stride by a
woman who admitted all the success
and did not instantly care for him.
“I say. old man,” said Torpenhow,
who had made one or two vain at
tempts at conversation, “I haven’t put
your back up by anything I’ve said
lately, have I?”
“You! No. llow could you?”
“Liver out of order?”
“The truly healthy man doesn’t know’
he has a liver. I’m only a bit w’orried
about things in general. I suppose it’s
my soul.”
“The truly healthy man doesn’t know
be has a soul. What business have you
with luxuries of that kind?”
“It came of itself. Who’s the man
who says that we’re all islands shout
ing lies to each other across seas of
misunderstanding ?”
“He’s right, whoever he is, except
about the misunderstanding. I don’t
think we could misunderstand each
other.”
The blue smoke curled back from the
celling in clouds. Then Torpenhow
said insinuatingly:
“Dick, is it a woman?”
“Be hanged if it's anything remotely
* woman, and if you begin
to talk like that i’ll hire a red brick
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studio with white paint trimmings and
begonias and petunias and blue Hun
garians to play among the three-and
sixpenny pot palms, and I’ll mount all
my pics in aniline dye plush plasters,
and I’ll invite every woman who yelps
and maunders and moans over what
her guidebooks tell her is art, and you
shall receive ’em, Torp, in a snuff
brown velvet coat with yellow trou
sers and an orange tie. Yob’ll like
that.”
“Too thin. Dick. It’s no business of
mine, but it’s comforting to think that
somewhere under the stars there’s sav
ing up for you a tremendous thrash
ing. Whether it’ll come from heaven
or earth, I don’t know, but it’s bound
to come and break you up a little. You
want hammering.”
Dick shivered. “All right,” said he.
“When this island is disintegrated, it
will call for you.”
“I shall come round the corner and
help to disintegrate it some more.
We’re talking nonsense. Come along
to a theater.”
[to be continued. 1
HUNTING StASON.
It ©pans in Georgia Beginning the
First of Next Month.
The hunting season in Georgia
opens the first of next month, and
the hunters are getting ready for
the coming of November ist.
In the year just passed 36 states
have made revisions of their game
laws. Among these Georgia has
made important revisions, which
are of interest to hunters.
The following condensed facts
that are now parts of the game laws'
of the state are given for the guid
ance of gunners:
Sunday hunting is prohibited.
The close seasons aie as follows:
Deer, Jan. 1 to Sept. 1; quail, par
tridge, pheasant, wild turkey, Mch.
15 to Nov. 1; English, Mongolian
and other imported pheasants, un
til Nov, 30, 1905; dove, snipe,
marsh hen, March 15 to July 15;
woodcock, woodchuck, and summer
duck. Feb. 1 to Sept. 1.
Quail or partridge cannot be ex
pnted under penalty of a fine not
exceeding SI,OOO, imprisonment
not exceeding one year.
Killing for sale is prohibited at
all times of deer, quail, wild turkey
and doves, except on one’s own
land or under a license for market
hunting,
Market hunting licenses may be
obtained from the ordinary on pay
ment of $25, and will permit of the
killing of deer, quail, wild turkey
and doves for sale. Licenses ex
pire each December 31.
Non-resident hunters and people
living out of the state must pay
the market hunter’s license of $25
before hunting in the state. No
quail may be exported bv non-resi
dent hunters. Fifty doves is the
non-resident’s bag limit.
First Cost Not the Cheapest.
The first cost of an article does not
necessarily determine its cheapness.
For instance a sack of “Clifton”
flour may cost you a little more tlmn
other so-called patent flours, but it
will be cheaper to you in the end
Why? Because it will not only make
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a sack of “Clifton” and make a test
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CASTORIA
For Infa ats and Childi-er ,
(he K nd You Havt;
Always Bought
Bears the i .
Signature
'#
(\ Jp In
MaT Se
\y For Over
Thirty Years
CASTORIA
THE CENTAUR COMEANT. NEW YORK CITY.
Love of Louise and Joe.
Louise Leblanc, of Quebec prov
ince, Canada, was engaged to marry
Joe Belaire, but they quarreled
about politics, says a Quebec letter
in the Boston Transcript. He was
a Bleu, she a Rouge, devoted to
Laurkr. Her mother tried to in
duce her to marry him. But no,
Louise admitted she was sick with
love for Joe, but she could not
change her politics, and she would
not marry him unless he would
promise to vote for Laurier.
“Joe was one of those conversa
teurs so bieu dat you nev’ean wash
off. The cure tried to get him to
promise as Louise wished. But
Joe he’s tell de cure, ‘M’sieu le
Cure, dass no ure for promise. I
can’t change my politique. My
politique dass my principe, an’ my
principe dass my honneur. Surely,
you don’t bask me for loss dat.’
“After that the mother of Louise
she’s come for see the cure, and
nex’ week de cure is go for see
Louise. He’s spik long tahm wis
Louise, till he get her for consent
to be marry. So dey was married.
“But what was it M’sieu le Cure
tol’ Louise what mek her consent,
after her moder couldn’t mek her?
Well, seh, ah’ll* tol’ you. It was
lak dis, M’sieu le Cure, he’s say,
‘Louise, mon enfant, take my
advice an’ marry Joe Belaire. You
know he’s love you good an’ strong.
You know you’s love him jus’ de
same lak dat. You marry him and
I will ask le bon Dieu for bless
your marriage. I will pray God
to give you a big family. Also I
will pray dat all your children be
boys. Den you can bring de whole
lot hup to yote for Laurier.’ So
she marry Joe Belaire. And, be
gosh, dere was twins two tahm
runnin’ already, and dey’s hall
boys!”
Many Mothers of a Like Opinion
Mrs. Pilmei, of Cordova, lowa,
says: “One of my children Avas subject
to croup of a se\ r ere type, and the
giving of Chamoerlain’s Cough
Remedy promptly, always brought
relief. Many mothers in this neigh
borhood think the same as I do about
this remedy amt want no other kind
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and felt miserable most all the time.
Did not enjoy eating until after 1
used Kodol Dyspepsia Cure which
lias completely cured me. —Mrs. '*■
W. Saylor, Hilliard, Pa. No appetite,
loss of strength, nervousness, head
ache, constipation, bad breath, sour
risings, indigestion, dyspepsia and
all stomach troubles are quick 1'
cured by the use of Kodol. Kodol
represents the natural juices of diges
tion combined with the greatest
known tonic and reconstructs e
properties. It cleanses, purifies am
sAveetens the stomach. Isold by M-
F. Word. oct
The best that money can hu 1 -
should be your aim in choosing a
medicine, and this is Hood's Sara
parilla. It cures when others fail-