The Roanoke times. [volume] (Roanoke, Va.) 1890-1895, 1893-09-28

altered in the least. But If a man can
only fail, if he can't even support him
self, the most practical thing is to find
some woman silly enough to shoulder
the responsibility"
Coon Your English grows more
vigorous day by day. It's really lib
eral education to be allowed to hear you.
Surely you haven't finished yet You
said more than this yesterday"
mo, haven't finished. want to re-
mind you once more that you owe me
money. More than that, want it. I'm
sick Of your spiritless languor I never
knew n man let himself drop as you
have done. Because you go at rapid
pace is no reason why you should die
mentally. l haven't. But you can't
drink at all without drinking too much
and keeping it up too long. In fact, you
are an extremist in everything. There's
q genius in moderation"
Don't stop for breath. am a-thirst
for the rest. More-more," said Tom
without moving an eyelash.
You shall have it ALL The time has
come for plain talking" and there was
q savage snarl in the words. II want
my money. 1t seemed there was some
hope of getting it from this Baudoine
marriage, as don't believe you'd write
another word"
Don't your
"No. 1t may be you've tried and
cant-it may be you don't care. In
either case I've been bitterly disappoint-
ed in you. You're the last embryo genius
I'll put on pedestal. Genius? BY heav-
en-! that's rich. Why, you've fallen in
to psychical ruin. You exhausted your
self in The Worlds Way"
An unwilling, dusky red started up
in Toms followed cheek. Itebbed slow
ly away as, opening his eyes wide, he
smiled at Delatole with an expression of
positive hatred.
THAT is one of those charmingly
soothing speeches we must learn to ex-
pect from those we live with. But you
are wrong. The trouble lies here.
unfortunately must still be sincere and
must put something of myself into ev-
erything write. When one believes in
and cares for SO little, it is very hard.
have not yet matched your stride, you
see-you who with one arm around your
neighbours wife could write an essay on
the beauty of morality"
The door banged, and Delatole's foot
steps grew fainter in the echoing pas
sage. In the silence that followed Tom
still lay motionless, his wide open eyes
fixed upon the ceiling, the small unob-
trusive sounds of quiet room hutter.
ing the loneliness that settled around
him.
How l hate him." and though the
words were but whisper their reality
was intense.
He thought of the past.
That year in Paris-every detail of it
returned to him as he lay there-that
crowded, riotous, unholy year. His first
taste of pleasure, his exuberant appre-
citation of life carrying him along with
the rush of a laughing stream going
down hill; the new, fevered atmosphere;
the days spinning by in a sort of moral
vertigo; the crowd that called him to
follow where it was brightest, that
brightness lining the sheer descents of
vice.
And now? Now he was back in famil.
lar New York, bound by honor by wo-
man who wearied him, inclined to rid
himself of the obligations he had as
sumed in the beginning through sheer
Discrimination to the trouble of resisting,
following pleasure with q foreknowledge
of WEAKNESS, in debt to Delatole while
straining at the wornout cord that bound
them, struggling against the maddening
inactivity that palsied his faculties in
the art still dear to him.
A sharp, Quivering breath came from
his lips.
Delatole had spoken truly. Some.
thing had withered within him, or in
the degradation of his life he had lost it
forever. He had striven to write and
always in vain. His ideas were no long.
er vivid, stirring, flowing to logical
sequence, but dim, abortive-a haze of
tangled threads. Heaps of closely writ
ten paper, upon which the best efforts of
his brain had been expended with the
feverish intensity man feels in running
race, had been cast aside as worthless.
The day was surely coming when his
world would know the truth and liken
him to plant that puts forth radiant
blossoms once and withers in night.
How miserably he had failed! Was
there no escape from social annihila-
ton except by trading on the infatua-
ton of n woman 10 years older than
himelfp And once-once-when he had
thought like one inspired, and honor was
a shining reality in his life, he had be-
trayed love for chilnera. But he must
not remember that, and least of all to-
night, in the silence, when his thoughts
were like knives in his heart.
He stood up, shivering, and from habit
turned to the sideboard. He half filled
a goblet with brandy and laughed aloud
as the decanter clinked against the glass