The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1893-09-22
CHAPTER VI

latole, with dry smile, as he led Tom
across Madison square. "Pm going to
have you meet some other fellows,
friends Of mine. 1t Will be well FOR you
to know them"
And he ran over list of names, all
familiar to Tom and young, like himself
artists, writers, painters and wealthy
dilettanti. His heart grew large with
pride. He tingled with anticipation, and
tremors Of ecstacy passed over him as if
he had drunk the distilled witchcraft of
the moonlight. The artistic world was
his to enter, and Delatole, leader, was
holding the door open for him. Like a
companion picture in shadow rose the
memory of the night when he walked
alone in the rain in the sore travail of
spirit out of which this first success was
born. Was he that man? Was the illu-
minated blue above him the same sky
he had looked at then?
Its SO awfully good of you to give me
this opportunity" he said, and Delatole
understood all that the joyous infection
in his voice expressed.
There was not much about the ingen-
uous young fellow beside him that Della
tole did not shrewdly understand. Itwas
his custom to study the people he met
and adapt them if possible to his require
ments of the moment. He used his
friends. When they tired of serving him,
he turned his secret enmity to account
whenever opportunity offered by max
ing them the subjects of scintillating,
scathing attacks in the press that added
to his fame. How Murray could serve
him he had not yet determined, but his
gratitude was what he wanted. SUch
fresh and promising material, which
would easily receive whatever impress he
might place upon it, was not met with
every day.
"Oh, you needn't thank me, Murray"
he said, with his acid smile and shivering
even in the depths of his cumbersome coat
as an icy wind swept across the square:
"Tm little bit proud of this chance to
take you up. You mustn't be too mod
est. You are a success. You've written
a play that's caught the town-a play
that will live. How you did it is mys-
terry to me. You haven't lived long
enough to know the awful truth of all
you've said. Once or twice there was a
pain in the place where my heart used
to be. Read what I've said of you in
The Challenge tomorrow. went out
during the act and dashed off criticism
in beer saloon. In few days I'll go
into the subject at some length, and
well, you'll see! But tell me now how
your inspiration came. You're some
thing of problem to me-"
81 haven't known much life," said
Tom, "and suppose I'm unsophisticated
and credulous. But somehow under
stand this game in which as yet I've
scarcely taken hand. Somehow seem
to know how l would suffer under the
stress of the temptation l described.
Some of the words burned me as l wrote
them. lived in the scene. Within my
own consciousness 1 loved, struggled. fell
and repented with my hero"
go ON. l like to hear you. You sound
ed the depths of your emotional posi-
bilities before the water was troubled. 1
understand. The plummet went to q
dark depth to have given you even a
shadowy insight into such intensely hui
man mistakes and pain. Think of it, by
Jovel You who've hardly known a sor-
row made the women weep! And that
small, pale ray of promise at the end was
masterly."
Tom felt nearness to this stranger,
almost an affection, as he listened. By
degrees his uneventful history was won
from him. He felt little abashed at its
nothingness, the narrative of days flow
ing quietly in an questionable neigh
borhood and his almost friendless condi-
ton.
"Of course there are Mr.. Kent and
Virginia" he said more brightly, but 1
know few people in New York. l didn't
care for the fellows in college. My fa-
Their died four months ago. That was
my first grief, as don't remember my
mother at all. would often have felt
desperately lonely if it had not been for
Virginia"
"The girl I met tonight? All, yes.
Pretty eyes. Rather dangerous sort Of
friend, 1 should think, for q fellow like
you"
"You don't know what she's been to
me-" said Tom. And then, morbidly
fearful Of appearing sentimental, he re-
lapsed into silence.
Delatole asked no question. There was
no need of one.
'Isn't it strange" said Tom after
pause filled only with the crunch of their
footsteps on the frost hardened snow, 81
used to think myself awfully wretched
and forsaken sometimes? l had an ar
rogant idea that was the most abused
fellow in New York. But after 1 had
grouped my characters and grew to
know their imagined faces, after had
knotted the tragic thread that held them,
then 1 knew the difference. Poverty
and the small perplexities of my life lost
their sting when faced the picture of
stricken soul of my own creating. No,
l can never be bitter or Disconnected
again. have learned new and sweet