The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1899-07-20
Among the Mists
THE cliff was brown with autumn,


and the sun was changing the
grey sea to blood-red where sea and
sky met. The waters seemed illimit-
able, but . few miles across were the
shores of France. The strains of the
band which was playing on the pier
were mellowed when they reached the
cliff, and the hackneyed song of the
cornet solo was not without romance.
Clifford Davenport felt this as he
settled himself on seat near the verge
of the cliff. He was artistic, and the
soft loneliness of the evening soothed
his soul. She would come, he knew.
She had come regularly every night,
and his brief holiday from the hurry
of Fleet street had been very pleasant,
for nature had made him an artist be-
fore the world forced him to become
a journalist.
1t had been an ordinary seaside flirta-
ton. She had red-gold hair, and he an
artists appreciation, and the three
weeks had been quite idyllic. Now he
felt little uncomfortable, for he was
going to infiict pain. He was going to
say goodbye, for the affair had not
been serious on his part; and, besides,
there was somebody else who had not
red-gold hair, but was rather vulgar
and rather rich. He was conscious of
some amount of pity for her, and was
pleased with himself for it. Yet he
feared the dumb sorrow of her eyes.
He knew the sorrow would be dumb,
because she was q woman and could
suffer in silence. Presently she came,
moving softly across the Drowned grass
to the seat and sank gracefully into it.
He threw away the cigar he was smok-
ing.
'Ah, Clifford, how restful you look.
Why do not men cultivate rest more?
They are not generally SO eager to do
nothing"
mo; they set out with being eager
to do something, but they are in doubt
as to its nature"
"And end by doing nothing. The re-
suit is the same. That must be very
dispiriting, don't you think? 1t ac-
counts, though, for the terrible ugli-
ness OF middle-aged men,"
'All middle-aged men are not ugly"
ne remarked, with a consciousness that
81 years might be considered as border
ing on that doldrums of existence.
Yes. No man who is not ugly is
middle-aged. He is either young or
old"
May, do you remember that we first
met each other three weeks ago?"
only three weeks? 1t seems an
eternity"
He moved uncomfortably. THAT is
"equiyocal."
rs it? Aren't all things equivocal-
all nice things? Three weeks-they
have been very happy"
YES, very happy. What a pity it is
that Providence, or fate, or some con-
trolling influence, does not rest at these
happy periods, ana murder Time!"
Poor Time! lie would revenge
himself by numbering the happiness.
The unutterable sweetness of these
periods is their feeting nature"
"Fleeting?" he looked up surprised
She was taking away the ball from him
and he resented it.
Did l say feeting? But they are
feeting, aren't they? No great happi-
ness stays forever. A perfect gown is
out of fashion almost before it is put
on"
a gown" he calculated. How can
you think of gowns with such sun
set?''
II don't know! IT seemed natural
You being a man would think of your
pipe or your cigar-you were smoking
when ! came, you know-and !, being a
woman, think Of a gown"
"You look very WE'LL" he admitted,
critically.
"Yes, l knew you would say that be-
cause it is true. 1t is appropriate
You see it is a soft gray-and your
artistic spirit would naturally ap-
prove
appropriated"
Every day has its predominant color
Tonight will be gray. It-you said
we have known each other three weeks
I fear"
"You fear?"