The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1895-09-05

'hild's play. provided that the shares
60 up
"Oh, they went up all right, and so
did the others that l bought afterward.
I've never lost a shilling through fol-
lowing Morrison Parker's tips. l can't
complain Of that"
And yet you call the man your evil
gen ius?"
"Yes. l still call the man my evil
genius because I lost my soul through
him-my soul as as artist, that was SO
much to me-"
l started. / could not understand.
But, with an impetuous impatience,
Everard Deane FASTENED to make clear
his meaning.
"You call yourself an artist, and you
do not understand? Do you imagine that
an artist can NEEDLE with these sordid
actualities and not find his soul deiled
by them? Do you suppose that he will
sit down quietly to toll for doubtful
gains indefinitely deferred, when he
knows that IA sudden turn Of the market
may put hundreds in his pocket? No,
no, my friend, it is not possible. What
does he do? Why, he buys every edition
Of the evening paper to see the prices.
He runs into his club to watch the tape.
He drives up to the city in working
hours to ask his broker whether he ought
not to sell. That is how it was in my
case. That is how it must be in every
case. My balance at the bank was grow
ing, but while it grew my soul-my
artists soul, in which l gloried so-was
dying, crushed out Of its bright exist
nee by the dead weight of material
cares. And SO things went until I stood,
as it We're, at the parting of the ways
and swOre that l would make nv
choice"
Your choice?"
"My choice between the artistic and
the material life. I meant to make it
dramatically too. There was still enough
of the artist left in me for that. 1t was
at midnight, i'll my chambers in the
Temple. l took the manuscript of my
half finished NOVELETTE, novel that was
to make me famous-from the desk and
placed it on the table. Beside it l laid
a heap Of share certificates, and transfer
forms and contract notes. Between the
two piles there stood a lighted candle.
One of them was to be burned to ashes in
its flame-One of them, and at this SOL
emn hour l was to determine which,
and, by determining, decide the whole
course Of my future life"
He paused. ] bad to press him before
he would proceed.
And then you burned
"Neither,' was his unexpected IN
sweT. Neither, for I could not decide.
My noyel Went BACK into tbs drawer it
came from, to wait there till the Old
Joy in the higher life came back to me.
And that joy never came. Even to this
hour it has not come. l look back to me
old days. l long for them. But | know
quite we'll that they will not return to
me. The greed for gain, its ceaseless
worries and anxieties, has killed my
soul, and that is why l tell you that I
am Q failure
There was a melancholy, at once in
credible and convincing, in his accents.
unless there were a woman In the case,
I would not have believed it possible
for o man SO we'll to do to look SO mis-
ernble. l sought to say something that
might lift him ont Of his dependency.
Failure or no failure, at least You
car 30 to Monte Carlo in the winter" I
suggested.
"!kno&. I'm going next week with
Morrison Parker" Everard Deane re-
piled.
And then he shook his head slowly
and shrugged his shoulders gloomily, as
though to say that the JOY Of sojourning
on the Riviera while we were toiling in
the fogs was nothing to the price that
he had had to pay for it.
And as I drove home that night to
Whitcomb street I tried to persuade my
self that he was right. -Francis Gribbe
in New Budget.