Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1893-11-16

utItub III lbs ildOufc. lu6 Way WdIuu6SS
rolled like sea, only to break upon this
as upon a lgsr and surge back strength
less and a5ortive No, he could not lie
to him. His glance wavered, the cigar
dropped from his trembling fingers, he
moved little nearer Felix Dawson, his
heart in his eyes.
'sWhat will you do? Wait before you
speak. Hear me-" He stopped sudden
ly, pierced to the heart. ''My God!
what must you think of me?''
''What do think of you?" asked Daw-
son, the low, resonant voice suddenly
quiyering with contempt 'Iwould not
touch your hand for all the money in
the world if I starved tomorrow. You
seem to me like rich man who searches
through beggar's rags and steals his
last coin. You are utterly detestable to
me. You coward You thiefw
Tom started and flung back his head.
''No, I'm not that. I'm not what you
believe. | didn't rob you Of your one
possession and add it to my many. I
took it when | was mad with despair.
You must believe me-you must. : 1t
was here in this very room" and he held
out his arms, looking around the place,
an almost childish pleading in his eyes.
81 came in knowing had failed. l ac-
cepted defeat with what agony perhaps
you can guess. 1t was then 1 read your
play for the first time. More than year
had passed since you left it, and Thought
you dead. 1t would mean nothing to
you, everything to me. I took it. / ask
you again, what will you dog'
There was understanding in Felix
Dawson's eyes, but no softening. His
heart was like wrung out sponge-it
knew no extremes. The one passion left
him was a morbid love for the play he
had written
"Poor, wronged dead men. They can
not all come back as | have done. But
unfortunately for you," he said, with a
slight curl of his lip, Il was not dead. 1
came here three times in the summer
following. The place seemed shut up.
The rest of the time have spent in a
hospital. Facing death and eternity,
forgot life, l forgot you. God has
cursed me for many years, and never
bent to the rod. And now, when hao
thought the long, bitter day was to end
in storm and darkness, there is prom
Use Of new dawn"
"You mean?'- and the words were
terrified breath on Toms lips.
ssWhat can | mean but that you are to
give me my play?" he cried.
GkT oor,st non,+ var Gao That e, -,
possible-now?" The prayer had gone
from Toms voice. 1t was dogged, des-
perate. ''l'll give you every penny I get
for it, but my name must stand as its
author. To acknowledge your right
would be confessing my theft. That
refuse to co. 1t No.. =. ial dis
grace. Do you understand:
Dawson's face WIS terrible in its scorn.
Money won't content me-
'sSee here. I could have denied your
right to this play-lied to your teeth.
But didn't. Face to face in this silent
room have been honest with you.
would undo it all if l could, God knows
how readily" He paused, and his voice,
though quiet, was like the strokes of
steel upon steel. "But before the world
it will be different If you have no
mercy on my position, I'll have none ON
you. / will swear if need be that the
play is mine from tho first word to the
last. l tell you it will be an unequal
struggle, and I will win. Cranks and
blackmailers abound in New York. You
will be classed among them and be for
gotten. You'd better accept my terms.
Think again. Take the money III be
glad to give it to you. But the play
must remain mine. 1t is too late for
anything else. Don't you see? Can't
you see?"
Dawson seemed scarcely to listen to
him. He was looking past him, a faint,
dreamy smile upon his pale lips.
'sThat's your view Of the situation.
Now hear mine. I've been trying for 10
years to touch success. I've always just
missed it. made my last throw when
I wrote DR.. Fleming and it won.
Money? Do you think money will make
up for the loss Of the thing most precious
to me? Deny me as you will; I'll take
my chances. You've robbed me of what
l love. That play was friend and sweet
heart, fire and food, to me for a year. 1t
is part of me. All / have hoped and
suffered appears in its lines like refec-
ton in a glass. Oh, yes, I'll have it
back"
He walked to the door, the blush dusk
shading his white. earnest, clear cut
face, and clothing him with mystery.
Long after he was gone Tom stood
listening to the splashing Of the rain.
His brain was afire with questions
Dawson would accuse him, but it
would amount to nothing; he would be
thought man driven frantic by misfor-
tune. But the money-that was diff
ferent matter and an unpleasant onea
He would never put another penny of
the play's payments to his own use. They
must be saved for Felix Dawson-saved
secretly-and some day he might be in
duced to accept them. This meant sud-
den poverty for himself and might excite
curiosity. He could say he was paying
his debts, or some Of the specu1ations
recently indulged in might be fortunate.
He was not afraid. He felt secure.
Coffee and liquors were on the table
when Delatole rushed in.
ssPass over the absinthe, Tom," he
said, with smile and comfortable
kind of shiver. "Gad, this room looks
cozy after the rain. Hear it, splashing
in bucketfuls. had to go to Emerson's
and have a bite with him-listened to
nothing but praises Of you from the soup
until broke away before dessert. He
says you're genius. But that's moth.
ing new. Haven't I always said you
stood alone? This last play settles the
point beyond dispute. The Russian color
is admirablel How the deuce you caught
it / can't tell, when you never had your
nose in Russia. But who can explain
the vagaries of genius? When you wrote
a at play, Tom, you prepared a delight
for posterity."
All, it was to hear words like these
that Felix Dawson demanded what he
created. Money, after all, was the
smallest part of the triumph. Tom
reused himself and found Delatole sinil-
ing at him in his most engaging way
His smiles were usually very expensive
dainties and augured frowns for some
body else.
ssDo you know, Tom" and his black
eyes sparkled as he looked down at the
opalescent liquor swaying under the
movement of his fingers tsthe time has