The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1898-05-18
The Unsigned Letter.


which my present life is tuned.
| The fire is low. ! must feed Ii with
some sage brush. 1t makes bright flame,
but it burns quickly, and then it is over
all but the dumb ashes, the smolderlng
desolation. How it crackles. What T.
fame See. it dies. II l were a poet l
could use that for material" but I'm
not The idea of my thinking such stuff
writing it. 1 must be, I am, admit, blue,
id blue.
The cowboys are all asleep. I wonder
can you realize what this sleep is-this
deep. dreamless sleep of perfect exhaus-
/ ton and perfect health. l shall never
know it after-when leave this wild life
and come back TO the old habits. to the
asphalt-how live it-and to you Well.
| il don't, SO much the better. Rather the
! insomnia of New York than the death
! like slumber of the plains.
But l cannot sleep tonight. Some al
most forgotten habit of restlessness is on
me- The past holds me. The vastness OF
! the uncovered" appals. The solitude IN
nerves me- How far away everything
seems, everybody mean you.
Dou you remember that night at New
| port? The cliffs and the moonlight? All
your face in that moonlight, how 1t haunts
me. There is a moon tonight-a furtive,
| wicked, shallying moon that Knocks at me
/ behind shifting clouds and Vapory, nebu-
| lous halo. I wonder is 1t shining on you
and with whom-where? Between us are
miles and miles OF untraversabie earth.
and the unfathomable chasms of your in
| difference.
| I'll swear, wherever you are. you are
| thinking of me.
Do you remember the fete at Ardsley7
You dropped your glove that day over the
| parapet and l leaped after 1t. We TESTED
about gallant of the legend, and you said
he did right to throw the gage d'amour
in the "fayre ladye's" face. didn't throw
the glove at you. / would not even
though there had been lions instead Of the
soft green turf. have 1t yet. 1t has been
near my heart ever since. l have kissed
it. / kiss it now.
You were in blue that day-that dear
day at Ardsley. The blue of your eyes
and of the skies-the blue that Somers
liked He said so when he joined us. and
you smiled at him-just as you had snlil-
ed at me. He has the other glove. saw
him leap the parapet for it when had
bowed myself away. Why not? 1t was
effectice. too-a scene not to be repeated.
and what use was one glove to you-or
one man?
Do you remember the dinuer dance at
the Grays? How you maddened me that
night! You were in white-not a blot OF
color except the CLEAN of your hair. Not
the dead white Of paper, but the flashing,
glistening white of a diamond, or a star,
or Of just fallen snow. Your face rose
from the billowy clouds of softness like
the face of n newborn soul. We sat on
the stairs, and you played with your fan,
and your lace-and me. You checked me
cleverly held me in leash when passion
threatened to play the deuce with the rose
ribbon moorings of conventionality.
1 saw Dalrympe sitting beside you, in
the same place. later in the evening. He
looked ruffied and uneasy, but you had
control of the situation. 1 pitied him,
poor fellow; pitied him so hard that I
broke the pearl handle of your dearest
friends fan when you exchanged a smile
of perfect understanding, which included
Dalrymple and myself in its seemingly
Inconsistencies of greeting.
l wonder is that peculiar soft light IN
your eyes tonight? Are the curves in
your figure so distractingly lovely? Are
your lips as red. so fit. so unwillingly to be
touched? Are you gowned in blue or
white, or in one of those understandable
tints that you wore-do you remember
at the Frenlins tea?
You seemed astonished when I walked
in that afternoon. You didn't know L
cared for teas" You thought they
bored me-" Bore me! and you there-you
coquetting with a long haired ritualistic
5-o'clock tea victim. vowed to celibacy,
who ate dozens of waters with healthy.
unaesthetic appetite, and looked at you
as if you were a Mary just stepped from
a shrine.
= o.
do you remember-on one side. Tom
Hastings was on the other. You didn't
know he cared for teas" You thought
they bored him"
Well. it was something to see You, to
hear your hooking voice. even in that un
satisfying way. To gaze at you through
a barrier of persistent admirers. To
watch you breathing your accustomed at
mosphere of adulation, mothe-laden. We
couldn't stand heaven all at once. We
would have to be prepared for it by de-
grees, glimpseS. hastily closed doors. quick
shut gates, else the wonder and glory of
it would everlastingly dim our sight.
And our good-by. You hoped I'd like
great fun" You hoped I'd be back in
time for the Easter revels." How you cut
off my attempts at seriousness. How you
surrounded yourself with Chinese wall
of frivolities and witticisms. How
My God-dearl Enough Of this jestingi
Don't you know why l went away? Did
not you know it then-that day when l
laughed farewell, with a white face and
tight-drawn lips? Can't you read a mans
heart, or have you played with them too
long? Are you like a child who has 10
break his plaything before he knows it
has an inner life-a mechanism of soul?
Here. under the unfathOmable heaven
Here where nature mOcks at SUPERFICIAL
ties, at Alterations, at the sheath-plating
of callous worldliness. Here where man
can dare TO be himself Here 1 can tell
you what l was too weak. too proud, too
impatient OF self TO tell YOU What do I
care now if you only laugh? What do 1
care if l am only another victim like poor
Baldwin who shot himself cleaning his
gun Just after you had refused him. and
Goodwin who has taken orders-of the I
perpetual
You have checked me. snenced me,
laughed at me. sent me away for the last I
time. I shall tell you! I love you! love
you! /
I must stop. The horses are uneasy and (
I will quiet them. The cowboys will not
be disturbed. They have been worked .
hard today and they need the rest.
That's right. Dick. old boy. Just If, me
a little Easy there! Now, that's -
right.
This isn't a heroic way 20 die. I: isn't .
even commonplace. We've been afraid az
Indians thelsst few days. There was a
rumor that the Nez Perces were around
When Dick woke and saw solitary figure
near the horses he dida't waiI for ex-
plantations. The cowboys always shoot