The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1898-05-09

asked HARDWOOD. L didn't Know ne q
ever been here. What a sneaking brute
he IS"
WHO cares" said, Bourke Were
not obliged to see him, are We? Wei,
Jim. what do you think. shall we stay
here, or go with the others?"
''Oh, of course, if you insist on stay
| ing
But do not" laughed Bourke.
''Yon don't? What about our instruc-
| tons TO remain with the French
arrry?"
''Pooh." said Bourke I'VE can cable
that it's impossible. Shall we, Jim?
You were so anxious to go, you know
yesterday"
! Il WISH said Hardwood, in sudden
irritation, that you'd stop grinuing.
No. 1 won't go. I'm not a COMPOUNDED
weather vane--"
Except in love-" observed Bourke.
Don't lose your temper, Jim, and don't
dangle around Hide Chalais. Now, I'm
going down 10 the city, to see what S
up. Want to Gomez
NO" said Hardwood, shortly.
Rourke nodded with unimpaired
cheerfulness, and put on his hat.
Anything 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 tbeter sell our
horses now, don't your"
| Il don't care damn what you do"
! said Hardwood, sulkily.
Bourke nodded again and went out,
whistlng. He understood the younger
man, and he would have laid down
his life for him any hour, knowing that
| Harewould would not do the same for
him.
When he had gone Hardwood threw
himself on the bed, both hands behind
his head. Perhaps he was interested
| in the single fly that circled above his
! head. sometimes darting off at a tan
/ gent. sometimes cutting the circles into
abrupt angles, but always swinging
back again as though suspended from
| the ceiling on an invisible thread.
He thought of Bourke-already won
/ dering at his own bad temper; he
1 thought OF the war-of the folly of
/ Saarbruck, the never-to- be- forgotten
, shambles of Marsha Tour-at least, he
| imagined he was thinking of these
/ things. In reality, a vague shape was
haunting him, vague angers touching
his own, shadowy eyes questioned his.
a 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
mirror, and stared at his own reflection.
Self-disgust seized him; he was sick of
himself, of his own futiiity, of his life
so utterly useless because so absolutely
selfish. That was the strange part of
| it to him; nobody else seemed to be
aware how selfish he was. He himself
knew it, but there was one thing he
had not known. namely, that selfish
ness is the first step toward cowardice.
True. he was cool enough under fire
he never hesitated TO risk his skin
when il came to the routine of his pro-
iession. He even risked it needlesSiy,
for sheer perverseness, and mis- reputa-
ton for recklessness was q proverb
among his fellows. He had been known
to bring a stricken comrade in. from
the fighting line. Thinking over the
episode later he knew that he had
been actuated by no high motives of
f-sacrifice: he had done it simply as
part of the circus. He was rather sur
prised 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 refused
At times his recklessness amounted to
imbeciity in the eyes of his confreres.
Sutherland. commenting on it one even
troubled with an annoying malady called
youth But this recklessness, when
he showed 1T, was not ignorance of fear.
1t was self-disgust. There were many
| other occasions when, being on good
terms with himself. ne had taken the
tendereSt care of mis- precious person.
This Self-solicitude was not normal prud-
ence-it was a form of fierce selhshness
that attacked him like an intermittent
disease. Some day, he was thinking now,
| it might attack him at the wrong mo-
ment. and at such moments khe hesita-
ton Of selfshness is known as cowardice.
As he leaned there before the mirror,
looking blankly into his own handsome
sudden fash that shocked him: for the
idea of personal cowardice had never
entered his mind.
made him loathe himself. He gazed,
startled, at that other face in the mirror
as though he had detected a criminal
secret assassin of himself who had
fawned and fiattered him through all
those years-a treacherous thing that
now suddenly leered at him, unmasked,
malignant triumphant.
In that bitter moment, as he stared
back at the face in the mirror. he reaiz-
| ed for the first time in his life that he
had detected ht5nself. Hitherto his fits
followed by nothing but self-contempt,
which led to recklessness. Now he saw
more; he saw his own soul. warped and
| twisted with egotism; he saw the danger
/ of the future, the possibilities of ruin and
disgrace, the end of everything for a
man in this world-detected cowardicei
| And he realized something else, some
thing still more amazing; he realized that
for the last ten minutes there had been
two faces In the mirror before hin1-one
his own, sombre and marred with boyish
cynicism, the other wagner face, a. face
of shadows family tinged with cobra
dim, wistful face, pure and sensitive as
a child's-a face whose wide, brown eyes
were fixed on his, asking a question that
his soul alone could answer.
He Strengthened up with an effort.
Presently he began TO pace the room.
ed the solitude of his egotism-w whose
memory persisted among all other mem
cries? Had he harmed her? Had the idle
caress of a moment left him responsible?
In the impulse to answer this he turned
! to cyniciSm for aid, but ii gave him no
aid and when he tried TO understand why
this thought should occupy him it sud
denly occurred to him that there existed
such thing as moral obligation. When
he had clearly established this in his mind
he went further ana found that he him
self was amenable to the moral law-and
this surprised and attracted him. girl
then. had certain moral rights which a
man was bound to respect! The PROPOSE
ton was novel and interesting
IF that's So" he said aloud, life is
not an impromDtu performance. but a
devilish serious rehearsal"
He lighted cigarette and walked to
the door. If that is the proper solution
of life, he thought, its not as amusing
as my solution, but perhaps it wasn't
meant to be-" He blew succession of
way. seeing in that light there does not
appear to be much opportunity for intro
ducing side steps of ones own"
BY this time he had reached the head
of the stairs outside of the landing No
side steps," he repeated, mo gags, no
specialties. m 10 keep time to the fiddle.
That's my business"
His mind was clear now-his heart
lighter than the zephyrs that blew htfully
throush the open shop door. Life in
remuneration, self-suppression. an even.
equitable life, orderly, decent, and, above
all morally unselfsh.
AS he set foot on the last stair, preoc-
cupied, entranced. hypnotized at the spec
tacIe of his own moral regeneration. Hide