Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1893-08-04


roetic, grandcr thing than Craven Lester
lnew it to lie. And it all came about as
the poet Lad prophesied. Some one took
Craven Testers brain and worked it like
sowing machine. But none of those men
in Myra's Bar had seemed to harbor the
| )ssibility that the some one should be
Eoman.
The plot was partly his and partly hers.
Fhe told him what he had to do with a
ravely possessive little air, which made
Lis heart leap in his breast, and he did it
with a skill and power which astonished
her, ignorant as she was of such matters.
He worked at it night and day, and in
less than two months the manuscript was
sent to the poet. The bushy headed one
and Samuel Crozier discussed it together
In an inner room behind the red curtains in
Myra's Bar, while SYRIA, occupied in her
craft, washed up her glasses and took no
notice of them. From these the manu-
script went to the publisher, from the pub
Usher to the printer with an urgent letter,
and for 10 days the post took "A daily packet
of proofs down to Craven Lester in his ru-
raj exile. The men in London knew that it
was good.
Craven Lester sent the proofs back care
fully corrected. Later on he wrote his
name across the back of very handsome
check and started a serious banking ac-
count. But he never offered to 20 back to
town. Myra's Bar looked for him i'm vain.
Then he suddenly became famous Fame
came to him in that strange way of hers
from nowhere and yet from all ways at
once a solid fame it was that came to
stay.
In the meantime he fingered at the edge
of the sea, and one day he told Marcia Dat
vile that he loved her. He was strangely
grave, anxious, breathless OF course she
ought to have seen it coming. But some
how she did not. This was chiefly owing
to that imagination of hers. She had inn
agined it differently. 1t was one thing to
make man write a wonderful book-such
a book as only comes once or twice in a
generation. 1t was another to marry the
author and settle down into humdrum
literary life. She had imagined herself a
second lncunnue to n new Prosper Meri
NEE. But had the Inconnue married Meri-
NEE, where would have been the letters?
She did not think that she loved Craven
Lester, and she told him so, but he per
suaded her to the contrary. He argued and
pleaded, and finally she began to think this
must be love. His great deep eyes helped
her in this dpcison-and certain presence
of the unexpected in him which was fasci-
mating.
They were formally engaged and the
Rev. Mr.. Oatville was vastly pleased Ev-
erything was idyllic and sweet and la py
for several Months, and then a friend of
Marcia's childhood came home on leave
from India. He was a brilliant young staff
officer in all the heyday of that early fame
which is not fame at all. He possessed the
Victoria cross and was immensely pleased
with himself and the world.
The rest of Marcia Oatville's story is
nauseatingly old. The man of action was
pleasant change after the absorbed man
of thought The breezy self confidence of
the child of fortune was eXhilarating after
a long spell of that thoughtfuness which
is left behind by one single failure. Craven
Lester could not stand up against this re-
verse of fortune. He was bcwldered and
saw Marcia Oatyille's love slipping through
his fingers without knowing how to stay it.
"Oh, he will be all right" the young sol
der said, with his lips too close to Marcia
ear, one evening in the drawing room. 'IIe
will go on writing his stuffy old books and
will be successful and all that"
He had tried to read the great novel and
had not come anywhere near to a compre-
hensiOn of it.
would not be happy-you know you would
not" went on the young officer, who was
profoundly convinced that the cream of
humanity wears red coat. Besides,
what would become of me?"
That was the question. What would be-
come of him. Marcia did not know, so
she gave in. Neither of them seemed to
think of asking what would become of
Craven Lester
She wrote and told him. When he call
ed, she would not see him. So Craven Les
ter packed up his things and went back to
town.
He returned to his old rooms, and the
orders came in. A magazine editor would
be glad to accept stories of 5000 words and
upward. Somebody else wanted a novel
A third would pay handsomely for serial.
Craven Lester pulled himself together
and bought some more sermon paper. He
persuaded himself that it was all right. 1t
was all a mistake about Marcia Oatvlle.
He had never really cared for her. Poor
soul! he came down to the argument that
he certainly could not care for her now
after her contemplate lack of faithfulness.
He went to Myras Bar in the evening,
There he met the poet and Sam Crozier.
He discussed with them various orders and
utClueu WHICH 10 accept. IL was 10 ne Il
novel. Another great novel, only greater.
He said he had not quite decided what it
should be- He did not seem to have any
definite plot to offer for their approval
But he said that he would just shut him
self up in his rooms and begin grinding at
it. He did not vouchsafe any details as ia
the method of working which had produced
the great novel, and in Myra's Bar it was
not etiquette to ask questions. Noone knew
anything Of his life Turing the months that
were past They only saw with their eyes
and heard with their ears that he was quite
different man. But then nothing changes
man so quickly and so thoroughly as
fame.
Craven Lester did shut himself up in his
rooms. He laid out the sermon paper and
affixed new pen in his penholder, but be
fore beginning to work he sat back in hi:
chair and thoughtfully nibbled the end Of
the penholder.
In three weeks he came back to Myra':
Bar.
"Well," some one cried, show is the new
book getting on?"
Ha eD,iIa1 In bis clOxx eyrava tpav-c Ioxuar