Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1893-11-09


He IooI1ed slrounu tne slIsnr room and
down at the bundle of half furled papers
Oh, that imagined life pictured ther,
through laughter and signing, like gem
through dust and tearsI 1t was more
precious than a magician's wand
"If it were mine-if it were miner hi
said aloud, and a woman's laugh driftet
up from the street. as if she had heard
that cry and Knocked him.
lie sprang UP ana turned the key II
the door Then he stood listening. Tht
action was guilty. almost before tht
thought 1sa@ sisl.;. y.
mo one will knowif j make it mine.
1t was foolish to tremble SO, of course
The cold drops on his forehead wer,
foolish, too, and his fast beating heart.
mo one will know" ne said again
and there was note of defiant Joy il
the breathless cry as he picked up tht
play. -4se3 EGaf
A sound attracted his attention. Il
was the faraway throbbing of . stree
I band; the air, German battle march.
( 1t was long since he had heard its heavy,
rolling sweetness, with that flowing un-
derbeat Of sadness creeping in like 4
lnell for many Of the multitude who
marched onward to its swing. A flicker
Of pain crossed his uneasy eyes. He
knew that march. Virginia had often
played it, and it pulsed through the
warm night with a wake Of memories.
Her face in its diurnal beauty rose be-
fore him; then slim, white robed body
floated to join the face, an arm, hand,
with finger pointing at the play, crushed
in his grasp. Yes, her very voice was in
his ears. asA 4i..A f faaaa
"You will not-you will not steal it,
Toni You could not fall as low as thatri
He dropped into chair, hiding his
face upon his clinched hands. A sud
den nostalgia weighed sickeningly upon
him. .ms sl LaJ isnagH
"You viii not steal it, Tom, rang the
voice in his SOUL. ssat
But he looked up again after awhile.
The face was gone. The German march
had dwindled to an echo.
eyes, WILL, he said steadily, as if
/ defying an invisible mentor. ''Tll take
it. I'll not be fool It's chance to
redeem myself, and cannot let it go.
can't. The man who wrote it must be
dead-he is dead-and-there's no copy
Of it. l can choke down Delatole's
sneers-I can pay my debts--I can start
afresh. 1t will be life, hope, bread tc
my soul. Tn not going to let fancy
befool me. If it had fallen from heaven,
it could not have come more opportune-
ly. Conscience Bahl' u-tl
But for all his bravado the violence OF
the temptation made him stand petrifed
peering into the shadowy corners. Every
creak in the silent house appalled, him as
he mentally weighed the chances for and
against detection. He passed his hand
across his trembling lips, his narrowed
eyes upon the locked door.
"Tll do it, he whispered. Aa
All night he bent over the pages, copy.
ing the play, here and there touching il
with wit that came to him then with
diabolical readiness. His heart warmed
over it. 1t seemed to become his OWE
by the mere changing Of the names Of
places and people.
He left no chance fragment of the
original play to betray him nor of the
letter and even tried to forget the mans
name. By morning all was done and
done well.
AS he stood up, wan and haggard
ghost, a crimson haze swept in, envelop
ing him like blur Of blood, and the
lamps Of new day were Lit in the east
nA GTo BE CONTINUED. IA