Arizona republican. [volume] (Phoenix, Ariz.) 1890-1930, 1895-03-20
FORGOTTEN.
How Paul Weguelin's Great Sor-
row Was Drowned.

marriage wasl The engagement had
lasted more than five years, and had
been entered into when matrlmony
looked as unattainable a prospect as
house in Lancaster Gate, carriage
and pair, and retinue of servants.
Not that they ever did reside in Lam
easter Gate It was humble little
wedding enough when the tTentful
day did dawn. and they took up their
abode in tiny house In Highgate,
where, as matt. of fact, they wessc
as happy as the day is long.
The day was long-thc phrase is not
commonplace-for the young hus-
bard went to b clerks stool in the
city directly after breakfast, and it
vas not till seven o'clock in the even
ing that Ethel saw him again. Both
declared that the hours of their separa-
lion appeared interminable.
But they had their hope, it should
be understood Paul was not made to be
a clerk all his young man named
Paul could not be! There was some
thing homogeneous about a Paul" tot
ting up columns In a ledger and saying
Hsir" to an cmployer-''Pauf' suggests
art or literature, a calling in bohemia,
and Paul Weguelin intended to be
playwright.
He had q couple of dramas which
Ethel vowed were beautiful declined
by every manager in London already,
and undeterred by the nonsuccess of
these he was meditating a third. In
the evening, after supper, when Ethel
sat beside the fire working, he would
light his Pipe and proceed to weave,
for their encouragement, fancy pictures
of the night when he should be called
before tho curtain by frantic cries of
sAuthor, Author" and drive home
with his ittlo wife's hand in his-a
made man. Ethel would nod her head
approvingly, and if suc.. conversations
Eons they wers certainly amusing.
Some months before their child was
TO be born, however, a scenario was
definitely laid down. They had gone
TO work in o professional manner, these
two yo.-ngy people, and chosen the
theater they would favor, and then
Paul hau mapped out a plot to suit the
company.
THAT is what Is always done, dear
est" he declared; Eve gathered as
much as that from the papers. You
see, with the other two plays l made
the mistake Of writing to please my
self instead Of studying the require
-ments of a particular management.
Now we'll go in an{. win
A clerks lie Is not conducive to the
pursuit OF literature, and Paul Vogue
lin frequently felt disinclincd to go
from one desk to another, but he perse-
Vered in his self-appointed task nobly.
Whom Ethel had gone to bed he would
SIT up writing until he was compelled
to lay down the pen from sheer ex-
haustion. And after fair start was
made. too. his interest in the thing
grew. Ills charact-rs appeared to gam
Hfc-to DO more real-apd Ethel
spurred him On by her appreciation
and prophecies Of success.
She did not complain that her even
tngs were now as lonely az her days;
they were entirely one, she and her
husband. She felt that the play was
as much hers ss his, and she would
read it and criticise, and suggest, every
bit as CENTRALIZED in it's development as
he was.
It was finished at last, and they
posted it together with little note
begging for its consideration; and every
evening for the next few weeks listened
with tense nerves each time the post
mans knock sounded in the street.
No communication about it came,
However, and then Paul was given a
son, and for awhile even the thought
of his play was banisi1ed from his mind
by reason OF E6hcT5 illness.
She was very i'll, indeed, poor girl,
but it was not often absent from her
recollection the drama from which
they hoped so much-and she talked of
it in her dolirlum, and repeated lines
from it until Paul thought his heart
would break with pain and terror.
In the terrible time that followed he
had but one small consolation; she was
conscious before she died. He will al
ways be Gble to recall every incident of
their 'Good-by," down to the smallest
details lie sutton the edge Of the bed,
holding her hands, and praying dumb
futile prayers while he endeavored to
reassure her and choke down his sobs.
The lamp On the mantel-piece had gone
out, and the flame of the candles on
the toilet table was the only light in
the room. Her Dyes were dreadfully
big, and the wilderness of her face
shocked him Her voice quivered pa
thctically, and vaguely he wished in
moments that she would not speak, it
was her voice, the pathos of the poor
weak voice, that endangered his self
control, and twisted his throat in