The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-10-18

punch MS mead, but you can't possibly
thin:a a mans head when his legs are 50
NO. and if you did, it wouldn't do Miss
think 1 can cure him without violence
$ she spoke the door opened and Mr..
Ormond BrownrfSg was shown in.
Miss CampbelTs nerve was equal to the
occasion. She received BTownrigg with
a careless, unconscious cordiality that ex-
cited Gibson's deep admiration. For the
flrst time he became aware of something
strange about her, a vivid. unnatural
charm, unlike her usual reserved and state
!iy grace. Gradually the -strangeness of it
Jared on him and he felt constrained and
nervous, and began 70 wonder whether he
looked as foolish as Brownrigg. He tried
to get Brownrigg to talk about a book which
herent answers and kept his eyes fixed
on the graceful figure in the deep arm chair
by the. window. Miss Campbell showed no
sign of interest, but lay back tanning her
sell and looking at the points of her shoes
with lazy half-shut eyes. Then she folded
ner ran sharply with a click and raised her
eyes 10 G1bson's appealingly. please don't
iets nave any more intellectual conversa-
trying hard to be intellectual for three
months, and / can't keep it up any longer;
It's much too f~atiguing." Brownrigg look
ed puzzled and framed his lips for a speech
Wnich never came. She spread out the pink
little palms of her hands with a helpless
gesture Really, the demands made on
Women.s fntelligence nowadays are some
aItergna a t}pai gifba There is only one horrid
tning ABOUT everything and then you're a
prIg, or you must know everything about
"AlCl Od 1t al DOIt.
Gibson laughed and turned away: he was
beginning to see it. AS Brownrigg dropped
little fac face io of G shaIr beside st;nL her; she made a
ing 20 tax books. are you?"
to f tell y o0t t gxact1 Fn1 II WAS was only going
small volume Of poems shortly. / thought
1t might interest you"
80 1t does, immensely. OF course. you'll
pc 1ltervleWed. And, of course. you'll set
Doody-trapS for the interviewers and supply
them with fictitious informationo That's
" IdC poets alWaVS do iGr1't TO H.
amused you'll be to read the accounts of
yourself afterwards in the papers. But
thing serious" ~
They had tea. And after tea she talked
and uttered commonplaces with an air of
ni,ense ana passionate conviction. AS they
20, up 10 go; she sighed ever SO slightly.
ana now. Mr.. Brownrigg. you know the
eerTlple truth. I am really nothing but
an emDty-headed. frivolous woman."@
you think 7 shall believe that?" said
nrownrlgg in a low. mumbline voice. "You
may choose to seem SO to others; you for
get that L have seen your SOUL"
Oh; no. you haven't. You've made a
mistake; it must have been somebody
elses; my souls never at home at tea
Leonora had to confess that she had
That one look from Brownrieg showed
that he thought her more adorable Than
ever lie sent her a large quantity of flow
ful,v 1na for eThe ven and they came in beauti-
IOlQ MIN SO.
".
When Brownrigg next found himself in
MISS Campbel's drawing room, his book
had been published. and a copy. the gift
or the author, was on the table before him
1t was very pretty to look at, printed on
rough paper, bound in white parchment
with gold lettering, Poems by Ormond
Brownrigg," amid a device of passion flow
ers. Within "a Souls Epic formed the
piece de resistance, to use his own we'll
chosen words. In a modest preface he had
forestalled obvious criticism by an apology
for youthful immaturity. On the dedica-
ton page there appeared this islet of verse
In a sea of margin:
TO L. C.
Lady, If ever in these ~listless days
A singers voice be welcome to thine ear.
1t may be thou wilt turn aside to hear
music wrought in these enchanted lays.
For this thy poet turns each golden phrase.
And loves own lyric voice doth silence
If such dim hope can make a song SO
dear,
Shall it not be thrice dearer for thy praise?
'The poet sat in a state of feverish anx-
iety, awaiting Miss Campbell's verdict. He
had led up to it by devious paths. as thus,
aspects of your marvellous mind. and one,
indeed, which 1 had not suspected. 1t
seems | make some new discovery in you
every day"
And she had answered.: Indeed, You
are quite a natural philosopher. The worst
of the natural sciences is that they are SO
fatiguingIy progressive; you never know
when you have got to the end of them"
headlong. He said that there was one fur
Their discovery he would like to make. He
felt that he stood at the, bar Of her mercy;
convicted of a heavy offenSe (here he laid
his hand lightly on the poems), and he had
yet to know her in the character of an i'm
And now the verdict was being given.
Il would rather not criticise your pretty
book, which | value as your GIT; put
l must say / think you've hardly done
yourself justice in publishing sucn very
lightfully in prose. A man with a career,
a definite goal before him, really ought
bois by the way" Here she took up the
book and began turning over the leaves.
Eyes, YOU have great metrical felicity-fa-
ciiitv 7 mean@but your verse lacks the
true quality of poetry, charm and distlnc-
ton She picked out a sonnet at random
deringly; it did lack charm and distinction;
You see what l mean she continued
reminiscent; one seems to have met with
most of your ideas before and you nave
me; this is only a friends criticism; and
there's nothing new under the sun, II 1t
comes to that; everybody must plagiarlze
is that, when you have achieved distinc-
ton in prose, it seems q pity TO waste. your
really admirable powers in pursuit of the
unattainable.'
Brownrigg had sat pulling his moustache
during this speech. He now rose Stlt1y,
and held out his hand without speaking.
i've not offended you?" she asked inno-
Gently.
mo. You have only condemned my life
work-that is. me. You may not know 1T.
/ have put myself, the divine part of
me, into that book, which you have read
in twenty minutes and appraised in three.
I'm sorry; but you told me to be honest,
and my opinions not final"
Far from it; il is the opinion of the aver
light reader who can only grasp one
idea at a time and can't be expected to I'M
derstand versatility. L am cursed by my
Because I have succeeded
in prose. I'm not permitted to be a poet
so it would SEEM
He drew himself up proudly. This is a
Woman'S Judgment on a mans work"
She saw his suffering and hated herself
for inficting it. But the thought of
jamie Morris CHS cousin) hardened her
heart for the final blow. mot altogether
a woman's opinion. 1t is shared at least
Mr.. Horace Gibson"
He turned a sickly green. He had always
cherished the belief that Gibson privately
recognized his genius as a poet. while con-
iemning it from an editorial point of view. }
re she were right, the doom of his book was
sealed. Gibson is a literary specialist.
YOU did we'll to quote him" I
With this Parthian shaft he covered his !
retreat He met Gibson on the stairs and {
passed him without a word. ]
yes she said in answer 20 the editors '
eyebrows; after three attempts {