The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1893-10-20

Tom stood like one arraigned before a
superior, a judge.
"Yes, do"
ga long time ago left a play with
you. This afternoon saw it acted at
Palliser's theater, your name on the pro-
gramme as its author"
This was the moment of supreme dis
stimulation, and Tom knew it. All the
forces within him were reused to q
throbbing sense of self preservation.
But he could not lie to him. He could
be very wicked but for one strain in
herent in his nature. The waywardness
rolled like sea, only to break upon this
as upon bar and surge back strength
less and abortive. No, he could not lie
to him. His glance wavered, the cigar
dropped from his trembling fingers, he
moved little nearer Felix Dawson, his
heart in his eyes.
"What will you do? Wait before you
speak. Hear me-" He stopped sudden
ly, pierced to the heart. "My God!
what must you think of me?"
"What do think of your" asked Daw-
son, the low, resonant voice suddenly
quivering with contempt. "Iwould not
touch your hand for all the money in
the world if l starved tomorrow. You
seem to me like a rich man who searches
through a beggar's rags and steals his
last coin. You are utterly detestable to
me. You coward! You thief"
Tom started and flung back his head.
mo, I'm not that. I'm not what you
believe. I didn't rob you of your one
possession and add it to my many. I
took it when was mad with despair
You must believe me-you must. 1t
was here in this very room" and he held
out his arms, looking around the place,
an almost childish pleading in his eyes.
81 came in knowing had failed. ac-
cepted defeat with what agony perhaps
you can guess. 1t was then l read your
play for the first time. More than year
had passed since you left it, and Thought
you dead. 1t would mean nothing to
you, everything to me. 1 took it. ask
you again, what will you do?"
There was understanding in Felix
Dawsons eyes, but no softening. His
heart was like wrung out sponge-it
knew no extremes. The one passion left
him was q morbid love for the play he
had written.
poor, wronged dead men. They can
not all come back as l have done. But
unfortunately for YOU" he said, with a
slight curl of his lip, Il was not dead.
fl,rnn -, ba
following, The place seemed shut up.
The rest Of the time l have spent i'll IL
hospital. Facing death and eternity, 1
forgot life, 1 forgot you. God has
cursed ire for many years, and Inever
bent to the rod. And now, when had
thought the long, bitter day was to end
in storm and darkness, there is prom
Use of a new dawn"
"You mean?'- and the words were a
terrified breath on Toms lips.
"What can 1 mean but that you are to
give me my playy' he cried.
"I can't. Don't you see that it is i'm
possible-now?" The prayer had gone
from Toms voice. 1t was logged, des-
perate. "I'll give you every penny get
for it, bat my name must stand as its
author. To acknowledge yoar right
would be confessing my theft. That l
refuse to do. 1t would mean social dis
grace. Do you understand"
Dawson's face was terrible in its scorn.
"Money won't content me-"
''See here. / could have denied your
right to this play-lied to your teeth.
But 1 didn't. Face to face in this silent
room 1 have been honest with you. 1
would undo it all if could, God knows
how readily" He paused, and his voice,
though quiet, was like the strokes of
steel upon steel. "But before the world
it will be different. If you have no
mercy on my position, I'll have none on
you. / will swear if need be that the
play is mine from the first word to the
last. tell you it will be an unequal
struggle, and 1 will win. Cranks and
blackmailers abound in New York. You
will be classed among them and be for
gotten. You'd better accept my terms.
Think again. Take the money. I'll be
glad to give it to you. But the play
must remain mine. 1t is too late for
anything else. Don't you see? Can't
you see?'
Dawson seemed scarcely to listen to
him. He was looking past him, faint,
dreamy smile upon his pale lips.
That's your view of the situation,
Now hear mine. I've been trying for 10
years to touch success. I've always just
missed it. l made my last throw when
l wrote DR.. Fleming and it won
Money? Do you think money will make
up for the loss of the thing most preciou;
to me? Deny me as you will; I'll take
my chances. You've robbed me of what
I love. That play was friend and sweet
heart, fire and food, to me for year. II
is part of me. All 1 have hoped and
suffered appears in its lines like refec
ton in a glass. Oh, yes, I'll have il
back"
He walked to the door, the blush dusl
shading his white, earnest, clear cut
face, and clothing him with mystery.
Long after he was gone Tom stood
listening to the splashing of the rain
His brain was aire with questions.
Dawson would accuse him, but il
would amount to nothing; he would bt
thought man driven frantic by misfor
tune. But the money-that was a diff
ferent matter and an unpleasant one
He would never put another penny o.