The Jasper weekly courier. [volume] (Jasper, Ind.) 1858-1922, 1897-04-02


clutchcd the piece OF gold put into his
palm. And then ne heaved deep
drawn sigh Of relief, JOY what? and
turned and left the room. Only when
the child was entirely out Of sight did
Winston realize that he had neglected
To obtain the name and address of the
new genius he had discovered. lie
turned the poem TO the light. but with
no success. Upon the back Of the double
sheet. however, was "A sketchy head
drawn family in pencil. The lines were
bad and the drawing crude in every
way. but the sketch was evidently in
tended for the cherub who Lad Just
visited him. In one corner was the
artists name, "Marie Nendall." .Jot-
ting il down in his note book and pass
| ing his hand over his forehead and eyes,
as though to erase all outside impress
sions. the great editor was no longer a
man; he was once more machine.
With relief the waiting pressmen and
| typos heard his whistle below and they
| knew that whatever "ft had took him. "
as the devil" expressed il. the autocrat
/
they looked al each other aghast when
the message came over the tube
| Take out that article on the coal re-
gions sent down half an hour ago ana
set this poetry instead"
Surely. 1.-THE old man had gone of his
head"
THAT FORMS locked up and just go
/ s.,
demonstrate.
"Blast the form. Do as | say" came
from above.
But it'll take" Came again from
| the depths.
"Do it il il takes all night Who
owns this Taper. anyway ?" roared Wins
ton. and shut the tube with a snap TO
denote that as far as he was concerned,
the interview was over.
Something had disturbed him more
than usual. Perhaps it was the memory
of the little mound on the hillside-per-
maps il was something indefinite-an
impression too vague to be classified.
Whatever it was. in half an hour,
Winston declared himself through.
its accustomed slot. locked his desk, be
took himself TO his club for dinner.
When he read over the poetry in the
great daily the next morning. there
Was "A something which arrested his at
I tention. \ scene, memory came TO ms
mind. but 1t was too elusive for him
to spend any time in trying 10 catch it.
1
4 distinct shock received an hour or
two later recalled il all. and too forcibly.
This shock came in the shape Of a note
from a fcllow-editor:
what are you giving us, anyway -
wrote he. you must have been short
of copy indeed, to try to palm off on
your readers that old poem of Tenny-
sons as new matter. Marie Wendall.
too. OF all the colossal nerve. l think
it might he called the Great Ameri-
can"
Tennyson's. No wonder there had
been a familiar ring to the lines. Why
had he skinned over them so hastily ?
Why had he thrown caution 10 the
winds? Why. oh, why had he made
such an ass of himself that all who ran
might read? He turned sick and white
at the thought of all il meant-this fear
full blunder If he only could hope
that the casual reader would not dis
cover it.
Any such hope rs this was dashed
ruthlessly TO the ground during the
next few hours. Letters there were
from al. directions jeerng they were,
angry. remcnstrant. everything but
sympathetic The world likes to be
humbugged, but il does not want the
fraud to he a palpable one like this.
And the readers of the great daily did
not hesitate TO say SO in most uncom-
promising terms.
Wild with anger and modification,
and with imprecatons deep if not loud,
the great editor set himself to find the
woman who had served him such a
trick.
1T is only another evidence of the
utter deceit of the whole SEX" he said
10 himself bitterly The trail of the
serpent is over them ALL"
Without any address or other clew TO
neF MDtitdDOHlS. 10 HIu the uIkHON II
was no easy task. The simplest solu-
ton of the difficulty would seem to be
10 wait until Saturday at three o'cloca,
but he knew very well that she would
lot put in an appearance. She was too
sharp for that. She mad the money,
and that was all she wanted.
With grim smile that BODIED no good
to that young woman. he started out to
find the author of his woes. And by
subtle but legitimate means, means
that no other man would have thought
of, John Winston tracked her at last.
"This is Miss Wendall?" inquired he,
with most elaborate courtesy of the
little lady in black who answered his
summons.
She bowed her head with surprised
expression that would ask his mission.
"You write poetry. | believe" he
questioned again, with sarcastic defer
ence
She gently shook her head and muir
INJURED a negative. with deeper wonder