The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1897-03-20
Stories Of an Inland State.

In her bedroom above, Clara Drew sa,
reading. From a fatigue of the mind and
of the wrist, the book fell into her lap and
closed. The Hight Of the lamp swept It.
luminous circle upon the carpet. Above
the ceiling was dark save for the single
spot Of light thrown through the top Of the
lamp chimney.
The head of the woman sank back and
she gazed dreaming wide-eyed at the dark
depths above her.
An energetic clock on the mzntel ticking
away for dear life in mortal fear It would
not arrive at the next hour, rang it's tin
nickle-plated case into a busy rnonotonous
song. and reaching the hour clacked as for
a warning and then with saucy expedition
struck Historically eight times and sped
on with its ticking tirelessly.
The woman turned to the f3dgety time
piece.
Eight O'Clock. The hour of nodding heads
In the agricultural west, the limit Of en-
Gurance TO a monotonous evening. when
the good people yawn for the oblivion Of
sleep to rid themselves Of the !rksomeness
Of Irritating familiarity OF an oft-told tale;
Of the benumbing climax in an old mans
Gead conquest; to rid them of the dry-bone
a
which the mind at last revolts and holds
the william a hero; TO rid them OF the pop
pied lull in the narration Of an event which
claims f1uttering excitement over the mir
ing of a wagon or the splinting of horse
Eight o'clock. The hour of artificial day
in the city; of pavements white under the
sheen of electricity; of towering theaters
beaming with an hundred eyes: OF the long
1ira of mill ha Eyr. Of
street gliding from hub to tile. from tire
to hub along the glistening spokes; of the
rustling music of silks and satins; OF the
perfumes of cleanliness and refinement; of
the color Of fair women and their enhance
ments; of the futtering emotion when the
great orchestra floods the souls of the list
cners; of the intensity Of anticipation for
the event of the night. The hour when
the great artist stands before them. king.
god, master of them all. The hour when
the world is at his feet and a thousand
streaming eyes yield souls as hostages and
bear him the homage of tears.
Eight O'Clock. The hour Of the yawn and
surrendering; the hour of the
waving handkerchief and awakening love
Of the beautiful.
The woman sighed and gazed on.
Somewhere this night he played; some
where before multitude he played. And
up from the fiuttering sea Of beauty and
gen ility there swept upon him a wave OF
Idolatrous acclaim.
And she who had loved him was here
alone. One touch oe his hand and she
could die content. Did he love her? A
times no. But she loved him and
all she asked was a place IN his memory
so small that he should remember her only
once, a place so large that remembering
Ter once, he would come to her and say:
Yes, j remember YOU"
And the voice of dead past sang to her
heart his words of long ago:
''You have come into my life as its only
happy sunbeam, and you shall go out again
and be only memory
Softly the music began. The woman
raised her hand to her hair and rose
i embling, flushed, confused.
Music.
She sank back into her chair again.
Somewhere tonight he Played some
where before a great, adoring multitude.
And she here alone
Music still.
The woman stared wildly about her.
Softly came the heavenly strains floating
Ip from below.
The woman rushed to the mirror aud
ooked into II IN terror.
Now the music had grown strong.
Was it not then a dream? Yes II was q
!ream for the piano had long been closed.
lara had q year ago given up music,
music which only made her the sadder. No
ne else In the house played and no one
certainly like that. What did it mean?
Stronger yet came the passion Of the In
trument It was calling her. With star
ng eyes she turned. Still it was calling
Ter.
Painting she stepped forward clutching |
t her throat Yes. The music called.
Below In the lighted parlor the master
red shouting voices fioated from the old |
Instrument and carried him on and away.
The arrangements were complete as he |
ad demanded. The rest of the Drew famI-
/, in fear of their lives We're crowded into
room to the side with the door shut and |
,cked. They listened to the strange music
nd understood the musicians aim.
IT'S most Ike a fairy-tale," said Mrs
rev quivering with excitement. She
oes not come. OH that Mrs. Shocks
nould have died before this
Drew had his ear to the door.
81 feel like an IDIOT he said. But
oppose it's all for the best. She'll stop
ming at least. Whist
The members of the family crowded
bout him.
She's passing down the hall Listen"
IF rs |
! first htfully and then came the soft,
ping tones of inefable peace.
Tho long meadow stretched before the
aver. And now The globuied notes OF
rk dripping from IT'S slender throat and
e rurr of amcrous breezes in the long
ASS AM tbs siIken cu:ver OF the SUM-
CHIT and the queruIoIs chatter Of pebbly
-ook. A young girl with wondrous eyes
ood there a wild rcse IN her har pout
BON her lipa with naked outstretched
ms Again he crept over the velvet
ass down where the color Gs the Wild |
g and the MARBLE Ct the rob'a mingled
blended ccior ard tone. lie touched her
III and dr,w al the tressss cut and ran
en- through his fingers: he passed his
I'D over the psip.:aiins Gvshes OF her
eeks and stroked the s!jken surface OF I,
T lips and kneit and kissed her snowy | ,
o..
Then. with a mighty effc-:. he arose and
isped her 20 him. Fut tile ereat blast
re him away. drew h'm back resistlessly. !
. cried out ~ anguish. NoT quite near,
~ IN tho distance she stool there with
ked, oustretched arms, pleading. He
-iihed in the arms OF the wind and strus-
50 10 be free.
he would havs cried farewell but his
> We're frozen,
Ie locked about bi.ndly, Where was he?