The Portland daily press., 1895-08-10
PRICE OF A TRUTH,

Maxwell Bernard was man who daily
and hourly presented himself-all uncon-
sciously-to his more cynical friends as
living curiosity by reason of the fact that
he was in love with his wife. 1t is GER
tainly not very heinous offense in the
abstract, even at this end of the nineteenth
century, but in the particular set to which
Maxwell Bernard belonged it was not con-
sidered quite proper to show such marked
attention to the woman who belonged to
you. Such things were left for other men.
True, Mrs. Maxwell bernard was young,
accomplished and heautiful-beautiful in
calm, statuesque way that rendered her
to the many quite insorutable.
There was one man who claimed to
know her secret heart. That man was her
husband. Perchanoe there was another
who thought he had even greater right,
but that is another story.
OF all the cynio friends who shrugged
their shoulders and sighed for a man they
deemed mistaken perhaps the one who
thought the most Of the matter was hon
est, drawling, laughing eyed, indolent Joe
Chesney-Joe Chesney, who was supposed
never to trouble about anything at all, and
whose life was apparently one long and
badly sustained effort to escape from worry
and boredom. But if some of those who
claimed to know the indolent one had but
scratched below the surface they might
have found a warm hearted creature,
whose caustic laugh did but hide some
better things of which he was half
ashamed. But they did not take the trou-
b1a +o ocrotch and tbav did mt LY,oxry ON
find the better man.
Years ago, before Maxwell Bernard had
succeeded unexpectedly to fortune, and
before Joe Chesnsy, the indolent, had been
called to the bar, these two men had been
at school together and had gone together
at Oxford, the one filled, even at that time,
with passionate hope that he might solve
the great problem called life and make Va
it better thing for himself and others;
the other lazily and carelessly admiring
him, but laughing even then, in his boy
ish cynicism, at his friend and at all his
friends airy castles.
So they kept the old boyish bond intact,
having many things in common and a
great, unexpressed devotion for each other
at all times-a devotion that was perhaps
weakened on the one side when Bernard
other, for all the careless laughter of the
0ynic Joe.
But a man is most blind to that which
most concerns himself and is generally the
last to learn Of an impending tragedy
which o'ershadows him.. So it was that,
while all the world who knew them pitied
the man and blamed the wife and whis-
peringiy coupled the wife's name with the
aoec o,nJ
knew nothing of it all and lived on in his
FOOLS paradise blind to all things.
But Joe Chesney had heard of it, and
Joe Chesney, despite his philosophy, was
troubled for his friends sake. Joe's phi
losophy had taught him to look on all men
| and things lightly and to be pleased with
their vagaries as child is pleased with a
puppet show. 1t had taught him, too, a
deeper insight into human character and
human weakness.
Its not surprising" he murmured to
| himself when he heard the scandal, tug
| ging meditabively at his fair mustache,
''she's the sort of woman who would nev-
er probe at the depths of poor old Max S
character-the sor. of brute that Calvert
| is touches her at once. But I'm sorry for
| poor old Max. It'll kill him. He's al
ways SO desperately in earnest. l firmly
| believe that if the proverbial heavenly
visitant appeared in the Albany and told
| him he wouldn't believe it. And she looks
SO sanity What's to be donef Must the
domestic virtues be sustained at the risk
of shock, or shall she have her lesson?
The latter would bs the more convenient
and smacks of origanality-but it would
upset poor old Max. Oh, ye friends of my
! Grant youth, why will ye marryS"
The result Of his cogitation was that he
| decided to warn his friend. He had moth
| ing but feeling of contempt for the wo-
man. 1t is only fair to say that she did
| not enter into his considerations. He
| thought only of the friend who had been
his friend through all his life, since the
days that they had wandered, with arms
around necks, in the old school playing
| fields.
| The two men met In favorite restau-
rant, with balcony outside its windows
overlooking the crowded and noisy street.
Joe Chesney was, for him, strangely nerv-
GUS and spoke but little; Bernard, for his
part, was in the highest possible spirits.
"Joe, old boy" he exclaimed at last
rallyingly, "you are not yourself. Come,
tell your old friend all about it. Is she
coy, or does the Joseph of my youth fear
to tell his lover Who is shep What is she?
| Tell me-"
| Joe reused himself and smiled across
the table at his friend. "Your thoughts
rln ever in the same groove, Max. Are
| there no other things save women in this
life of oursP Does life hold no fairer, fuller
| goblet to our lips, to drain If we will? Is
ambition nothing-friendship nothlng-1s
there nothing, in short, but kisses, and
emrA smiles, and honeyed words, mon
amiY'
"Ah, Joe," said she other lightly, syou
have not been In love-you know nothing
of it. When you have, you will learn a
| truer, wider Hfe-au things will change. "
"Will it blind nae to things can see