Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1893-10-01

They're tho ones you want to pleSsf'
You'll please'em."
He laughed knowingly, bis friends
joining. Then bis face grew suddenly
sharp and serious, something hawklike
chasing the lazy good humor from bis
expression.
"Here's Delatole. Be nice to him,
and he'll make your fortune doubly sure.
1 heard him asking for you a minute
ago."
Ienge?"
little fattery goes a long way with
him. II he likes you personally, the
dictionary doesn't hold words strong
enough for his praise. II he doesn't,
he ,an do the wet blanket business in
the most exc uisite diction you ever read.
Ask him to supper. Cultivate him. Hes
a bit OF q schemer, " faced as they
make 'em, and l wouldn't trust him
around the corner-no, not around the
| corner. Alb, Delatole, how are you?
You're the very man We want TO see,
he cried as the newcomer strolled up TO
| them. What do you think OF the play?
| Some of Won fellows would rather roast
ma than 40 the other thing any day. But
You'll do US justice.G AS l was just say
ing to Murray, he can rely on you for
fair play"
The lie was spoken with impressive
| earnestness, suggesting a deeply rooted,
longed tried confidence, but was accom-
panied by a thumb thrust that left an
| aching memory in the region OF Toms
ribs.
He moved from the thumbs vicinity
and found D~slatole, the feared, the
brilliant, the %applauded. The very chill
dren were familiar with his name. Es-
saws, poems, reviews, had trickled from
his uptiring pen Il crystalline phases,
! the patterlng music of a mandolin In
their light swing. he had been pioneer
in reforms in the political, social and
| ethical centers of the country. But he
WAS best known as d dramatic critic, q
mechanic of verbal eccentrlcities that
| surprised and dazzled. His paragraphs
fingered in the memory and could not be
forgotten. With his pen be let out tho
blood in the veins Of the plays he con
demned, and for those that won him
wove in one magical sentence a verbal
crown Of flowers languidly sweet q
penetrating as a fall Of happy tears.
This was Delatole, the author, the poet
realist Of theater Hobbies.
The man at drst glance was disap-
pointing. Tom had fancied him gray
and dignifed, his eyes heavy with the
dlsillusion Of life, but instead he found
him only a little older than himself
small and pompous in bearing. His
snare face was salloW and ended In a
pointed black beard. His eyes were
hollow and of that dense b~lackness that
resists light. A sardonic fippancy had
curled his upper lip to one side.
As he languidly drew one hand from
the pocket OF the great, shaggy coat en-
veloping him like a blanket, Tom no.
tic ed it was pale and forceless as the
hand OF g delicate woman, the tips OF
the fingers SIENNA brown from the use OF
tobacco.
1--WE been looking for you. 1 wanted
a word with you" he said, tone and
glance connoisseurllke. "Is it true The
Worlds Way is your first plsy?"
The first that has not died almost at
birth"
AS Tom spoke he felt the sensitive
| pleasure all who first came in contact
with Delatole experienced in some de-
gree. The restiul assurance OF his man
ner, the flashes of his shrewd eyes, the
musical, drawing voice, were all insinu-
atingly attractive to Tom and filled him
with admiration. BY comparison he
felt himself too brusque, too impetuous,
almost an artless savage.
"You interest me-" said Deiatole. II
must have you tell me more OF yourself
Unless I'm greatly mistaken, New YORK
won't be averse to hearing a little about
Won tomorrow. Aztec the play, II
you've nothing better on hand, suppose
you come and sup with me-"
The act had commenced, and he
scarcely paused to hear Toms murmur-
ed acceptance. 1t was a foregone con-
clusion that a new author would not
dream of refusing Anthony Delatole.