Evening star., 1898-05-07

What Bourke says" began Sutherland,
''s something 1 can neither deny nor ap-
prove. He affirms that 1t is not possible
for the German armies to isolate Paris
from the outside world he says that If we
remain in Paris we shall be able to COM
nunicate with our respective journals.
Whether or not this turns out to be the
case, 1 myself have decided to leave the
city. Personally, don't care whether I'm
with the French or German army. If the
Germans invest Paris and enter Versailles,
/ fancy it will change nothing as far as the
censorship is concerned"
German censors are worse than French
if any one should ask you," observed
Winston.
They're all of stripe" grumbled Hare
wood, who had more red pencil on his dis
patches than the rest of the foreign cor
respondents put together.
Sutherland laughed returning his pipe to
the morocco case and looked at Bourke
with kindly eyes.
LAS long as you and Hardwood are ex-
pected to stick to the French army" he
said Il suppose you ought to stay i'll
Paris AS for Winston and Shannon and
George Malet-they are free to go where
they please; and if I'm anything Of
prophet, they had better steer clear of
Paris
You mean you think that there'I be
nothing much to see in Paris?" asked
Harewocd. aRxiously.
Sutherland caressed his double chin.
There will be plenty to see-perhaps
more to see than there will be to eat" he
replied. slowly.
Bourke Re sed his glass impatiently, say
ing: well, here's to you. prophet OF evil."
Sutherland smiled at aim and picked Gp
his hat.
I'm an old codger." said the great war
correspondent. Il need the luxury of
unreasonable, but I'm not fond of horse
flesh, either. Bourke. if you think you
ought to stay in Paris''-hc held out Il
heavy suEburned hand-"Ill say goodbye
and 81 IN and rn Har ia
harc-traiaed sucking of Journalism.
In the laughter and shouts of Here's to
you, Jim. Don't let the censor bully you.
Take away his red pencil, Bourke jumped
to his feet and shook hands with them all.
including Speyer.
Coed luck. all of you," he cried hear-
tiiy. Jim and l will take our chances
Il don't get my stuff through anyway,
so il were Blocked up here II won't mat
ter said IIarewood. AS he followed them
to the door Speyer offered him fiahby
hand.
Il wish you luck he said, with fur
tive sneer. II know this house. You will
be well lodged. The ladies are delightful"
Hardwood withdrew his hand roughly
What's that?" he demanded, but Speyer
hurried away down the stairs, arm in arm
with Stauffer, whose weak blonde face was
convuised with laughter.
Did you hear what he said, Bourke?'
asked Harewood. Il didn't know he'd ever
been here. What a sneaking. sneering
brute he is
who cares?n said Bourke. We're not
obliged to see him, are We? Well. Jim,
what do you think? Shall we stay here or
go with the others?'
"Oh. of course, If you insist on stay
ing
but I don't" laughed Bourke
You don't? What about our instructions
to. remain with the French army?'
"Pooh!' said Bourke. I'VE can cable
that it's impossible. Shall we, Jim? You
were SO anxious to go, you know-yester-
day.
Il wish,'' said Harewood. in sudden irri-
tation, that you'd stop grinning. No. /
won't go. I'm not a confounded weather
yane-"
Except in love-" observed Bourke Don't
lose your temper. Jim, and don't dangie
around Hide Chalais. Now, I'm going
down to the city to see what's up. Want to
Gomez"
No said Harewood, shortly.
Bourke nodded with unimpaired cheer
fulnes I'd put on his hat.
"Any,hing l can do for you? No? Well,
tell our hostess I'm lunching en- vile. I'll
be back to dinner at Z. By the way, /
think I'd better sell our horses now, don't
you?'
Harewood. sulkily.
Bourke nodded again and went out, whis-
Ting. He understood the younger man. and
he would have laid down his life for him
any hour in the day. knowing that Hare
wood would not do the same for him.
When he had gone Harewood threw
himself On the bed, both hands behind his
head. Perhaps he was interested in a sin
gle fly that circled above the bed, some
times darting off at tangent, sometimes
cutting the circles into abrupt angles, but
always swinging back again as though sus-
pended from the ceiling on an invisible
thread.
He thought of Bourke-already wonder
ing at his own bad temper. He thought of
lhe warIof the folly Of Saarbruck. the
never-to- -be-forgotten shambles Of Marsha
Tour-at least he imagined he was think
ink of these things. In reality a vague
shape was haunting him, vague fingers
touched his own, shadOwy eyes questioned
his. name sounded in his ears again and
again. until the quiet beating Of his heart
took up the persistent cadence.
he reused himself, went over to the mir
ror and stared at his own reflection Self
disgust seized him. He was sick of him
self, OF his own futiiity, of his hfe-so ut
Ieriy useless because SO absolutely selfish.
That was the strange part of II to him: no.
body else seemed to be aware how selfisl,
he was. He himself knew It, but there was
one thing he had not known, namely that
seihshnes is the first step toward coward
Ice True he was cool enough under fire;
ne never hesitated to risk his skin when II
came to the routine Of his profession. He
even risked 1t needlessly, for sheer per-
verseness. and his reputation for reckless
ness was proverb among his fellows He
mad been known to bring a stricken COM
rade In from the fighting line Thinking
over the episode later he knew that he had
sacrifice; he had done It simply as a part
OF the circus. He was rather surprised
when they praised him, for everybody else
was under fire at the same time and he
knew that If he had not been there in the
line OF his own profession, and any one had
asked him to go out and risk his life In
that way, he would have Indignantly re-
fused.
AT times his recklessness amounted to
iinteciiity in the eyes of his confreres
sutherland. CONNIE enting on it one evening
observed that Harewood was troubled with
an ann Dying nalady called youth" But
tfis recklessness, when he showed it, was
OF ignorance CT fear 1t was self-disgust.
There were many other occasions when
BENG on good terms with himself he had
taken the tenderest of his precious
person This self-solicitude was not nor
NAL prudence-it was a form of fierce self
ishness that attacked him like an inter-
mittent disease. Some day, he was think
Ing now, 1t might attack him at the wrong
moment, snd at such moments the hesita-
ton OF seihshness is known as cowardice
As he leaned there before the mirror
looking blarkly into his own handsome
eyes, something of this came to him in a
sudden fash that shocked him; for the
idea OF personal cowardice had never en-
tered hia mind