The Red Cloud chief., 1896-07-17

and almost blazed. and then grew dim.
lie changed at zach sentence; he
mouthed his written talk audibly;
each thought was reflected in his pale,
mobile face. He laughed and then
grcaned; at the crisis tears ran down
and blurred the already indecipherable
script. But at II he rose, stiff In every
limb. and staggering. With difficulty
he picked the unpaged leaves from the
floor and sorted them In due order. He
fell into his chair.
IT'S good. it's good" he said. chuck
ling. What a queer devil ] am! My
dumb ancestors pipe oddly in me. It's
strange, devilish strange: mans but a
mouthpicce. and crazy at that. How
long has this last thing been Matching?
The story is old, yet new Gibbon
shall have II. II will Just suit him
Little beast. little horror, little hog,
with a divine gold ring of appreciation
In his g%rubbing snout."
lie drank half n tumbler OF whisky
and tumbled into bed. His mind ran
riot.
MY ego's a bit assured" he said.
Il ought to be careful"
AND ere he fell asleep he talked
conscious nonsense. Incongruous ideas
linked themselves together; he sneered
at his brains folly. and yet he was
afraid. lie used morphine at last In
such n big dose that IL touched the OPP
tic center and subjective lightnings
flashed In his dark room. He dreamed
Of AT Home" where he met big,
brutal Burford wearing a great dia-
mond in his shirt front.
Bought by my conveyed thoughts
he said. But. looking down he per-
ceived that he had a greater jewel OF
his own, and soon his soul melted into
he contemplation of It's rays, till his
consciousness was ~dissipated by a Ill
vine absorption into the very Nirvana
Of Light.
When he woke the mex day 1t was
already late In the afternoon. lie was
overcome by yesterdays labor. and,
though much less irritable, he walked
feebly. The trouble of posting his
story to Gibbon seemed almost too
much for him, but he sent II, and took
a cab to his club. where he sat almost
comatose for many hours.
Two weeks afterwards he received a
note from the editor, returning the
story. II was good, but
"BuriOrd sent me a tale with the
same motive weeks ago, and ! accepted
it,"
Esplan smashed his thin white hand
on his mantelpiece, and made 1t bleed.
That night he got drunk on cham
payne, and the brilliant wine seemed
to nip and bite and twist every nerve
and brain-cell. His irritability grew
so extreme that he lay in wait for
subtle, unconceived insults, and medi-
tated morbidly on the aspect Of inno-
cent strangers. lie gave the waiter
double what was necessary, not be-
cause II vas particularly deserved. but
because he felt that the' slightest sign
of discomfort on the waters part might
lead to an uncomfortable outburst OF
anger on his own
Next day he met Burford In Picca-
diliy and cut him dead with a bitter
sneer.
Il daren't speak to him daren't,"
he muttered.
And Burford, who could not quite
understand. felt outraged. lie himself
hated Esplan with the hatred OF an
outpaced, outsailed rival. lie knew his
own work lacked the diabolical GER
tainty of E~splan's-it wanted the fine
phrase. the right red word of color,
the rush and onward march of due
iinality. the bitter, exact conviction,
the knowledge Of humanity that lies
In inheritance. the exalted experience
that proves received intuitiOns. He
was, he knew, a successful failure, and
his ambition was greater even than
Esplan's. For he was greedy, grasp
ing. esurient, and his hollowness was
obvious even before Esplan proved IT
with his w%ringing touch.
He takes what l have done. and
does IL better. It's malice, malice" he
urged To himself.
And when Esplan placed his last
story and the world remembered only
to forget in its white-hot brilliance the
cold paste of Burford's Paris jewel. he
Itit utll SuIEt Wi'hiu MIN. bui H'
beat his thoughts down for awhile, and
went on his little, labored way.
The success OF this story and Bur
ford's bitter eclipse helped Esplan
greatly, and he might have got saner II
other influences working for misery in
his life had not hurt him. For n GER
tain woman died, one whom none knew
he knew. and he chung TO morphine,
which, in its increase, helped to throw
him later on. II works as one who
builds a dam higher and higher yet
against the rising waters, and the
crSah must come.
And at last II did come, for Burford
had two stories, better far than his
usual work, in a magazine that Esplan
almost looked on rs his owe. They
were on Esplan's very motives. he had
them almost ready to write. The sting
of This last hitter hloW drove him ntf