Western liberal. (Lordsburg, N.M.) 1887-1919, 1896-01-17

child's play. provided that the shares
go up"
"Oh, they went up all right, and so
did tho others that l bought afterward.
Two never lost a shilling through fol-
lowing Morrison Parker's tips l can't
complain Of that"
And yet you call the mar your evil
geniusY"
YES. lstiil call the man my OWL
genius because 1 lost my soul through
him-my soul as an artist, that wa so
much to mo-"
/ started. I could not understand.
But, with an impetuous impatience,
Everard Deane hastencd to make clear
his meaning.
"You call yourself an artist, and you
do not understand? Do you imagine that
an artist can meddlo with these sordid
actualities and not find his soul dehled
by them? Do you suppose that he will
sit down quietly TO toll for doubtful
gains indefinitely deferred, when he
knows that a sudden turn Of the market
may put hundreds in his pocket2 No,
no, my friend, it is not possible. What
does no do? Why, he buys evory 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 1t was in my
case. That is how it must DO in every
case. My balance at the bank was grow
ing. but while it grew my soul-my
artists soul, in which 1 gloried so-was
dying, crushed ont Of its bright exist
eDce by the dead weight Of material
cares. And so things wont until 1 stood,
ns it were, ut the parting OF tho ways
and sworo that I would make my
choice"
Your choico?"
"My choice between tho artistic and
the material life. 1 meant to make it
dramatically too. There was still enough
Of the artist left in me for that. It was
at midnight, in my chambers in the
Temple. 1 took the manuscript of my
half finished novel-the novel that was
to make me famous-from the desk and
placed it on tho 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
emu hour l was to determine which,
and, by determining, decide the whole
course Of my future life"
Ho paused. l had to press him before
he would proceed.
"And then you burned''-
Neither" was his unexpected an,
swor. Mother, for l could not decide.
My novel went back into the drawer il
came from, to whit there till tho ole
l joy in the higher life came back to me
And that joy never came. Even to thii
hour IL has not come. l look back to thu
old days. l long for them. But l know
quite we'll that they will not return t
! Inc. The greed for gain, its coaseles
. worries and anxieties, has killed m,
l soul, and that is why 1 tell you that
o I'M q failure"
There was q melancholy, at one in
! credible and convincing, in his accents
Unless there were a woman in the case
1 would not have believed it possible
2 for a ma so we'll to do to look SO mis-
4 cradle. / sought to say something tina
might lift him out cf his dependency.
"Failure or no failure, at least yoI
can go 10 Monte Carlo IN tho winter, I"
. suggested.
II know. I'm going next week wit
Morrison Parker" Evorard Deane re
: piled.
. And then he shook his head slowl
i and shrugged his shoulders g~loomily, a
. though to say that the joy of sojournin
+ on tho Riviera while we were toiling i
tho fogs was nothing to the price tina
J he had had TO pay Cor it.
And as 1 drove home that night
. Whitcomb street 1 tried to persuade my
self that he was right Francis Crib
: in New Budget