The Sauk Centre herald. (Sauk Centre, Stearns County, Minn.) 1886-current, 1899-11-16
NOT FOR PUBLICATION.
An Author Gets an Inspiration
From an Unexpected
Source.


"What lifev' repeated the man to
himself with almost writhe. Making
bricks without straw all the year
round. 1 wish-there, I wish to God
I'd never learned how to writer
And yet it had paid him in solid coin,
so far. One Of his minor dreams was
realized; the window of his writing
room overlooked suburban roadway
along which jarring wheels seldom
ratified; he had got away from the
whir and drone of the town, where his
nerves had been at tension all day
long. He could compose in peace. And
yet he sat with the bitter, idle stare,
clutching a dry pen.
The door behind creaked; a woman
glided in on tiptoe. Don't start-it's
only l." she whispered.
''Don't startw He threw down the
pen without turning. Its all starts
or the strain Of expecting them. I'm
sick Of it. tell you-sick Of it ALL"
'What is the matter?" She had paus-
ed half way, with hands together.
"Can't you writer"
write! I've nothing to write. I'm
drained dry. And promised tragic
story"-with a half sneer-"for that
Society Sun. Tragic! What's the
time?"
cit must be nearly G."
"Six? Dark in another hour-dusk
now! I've done nothing. And you-you
never attempt to help me, by so much
as a wordv'
"Never help your she echoed; and
repeated it to herself. 81 never help
him! But when have YOU asked such a
thing? What good would be my ideas"
"Oh, not much. Women seldom have
real ideas. They're fitting SUPERFICIAL
ties. StilP'-
A long silence. The door creaked
again, but he knew she had only closed
it and was still lowering behind him.
He was somewhat surprised, but would
not turn, vaguely conscious Of the
sneer's hollowness. Then
81 never help you," she repeated
calmly. "Would you like me to try?
Perhaps something has just come into
my mind. It is silly, maybe, as tell
it; but you, my husband, might make
it clever and interesting. You say
your stories are always twaddle as you
first set them down."
''Do I? Well, what is it?" he said,
staring across at the opposite roofs.
''This situation is novel. Go on. Never
mind as long as there Is anything at all
in it."
"There is-there is a woman's heart
in it, 1 think" she whispered. "Is that
any good?
"Ohw he said. Her voice had tailed
off as if she had a real idea, but was
afraid of the sneer. "Well, there usual
ly is; that's one Of the component
parts Of the average story. Even humor
is the brighter for tragedy lurking in
the background, you know. Anything
in the heart? That's the point Yes;
anything in this hearth
Another silence. Couldn't tell you
just as it came to me, then?" she said.
"I'm not clever enough to know. It's
more Of sketch, perhaps. IL imagin-
ed two lovers, very dear lovers. They
got married, and there was beautiful
world before them, with such peace
at the end, If they knew! Make the
man an artist. He lived for his art.
The girl-the girl was only just girl;
she lived for the man. She hung on
his every word, you might say; she
. prayed for his success when he was
never there to hear, thought for him
in ways that he would never know and
checked her singing and moved softly
so that he should never be disturbed at
his work. You're not writing. Is it SO
silly%
go on" he whispered. There
there's nothing to write yet"
''That went on for years. The man,
deeper and deeper in his work, never
saw that his wife was changing, that
>.the light had gone out Of her eyes.
He forgot all he had meant to be-for-
got after time even to kiss her, and
the girl-she could never bring herself
to remind him-eh? She still lived
only for him, but he never cared what
she wore, never thought that her work
might be hard TN its little way, and
that there are some women for whom
years of such silence and loneliness
spells death-or worse. She was al
ways crying at first and never dared to
tell him why If he did not see for him
self and kept out Of his way so that
his mind should not be spoiled for
work. And he-say that he thought 1t
was something else and spoke harsh
" and sneered and at last got so that
he lived in q world Of his own and
wouldn't open his door when-when he
knew that her heart was bursting out
side, longing for one kind word again.
Or-or- something like that. Could you
begin anything with that"
No answer. She could not see, but
the mans outward stare was as II 1t
would never again relax. She went
on little faster, her voice taking a
thrillAjust as though his silence I'M
Piled that there might be real dramatic
possibilities in her small inspiration. .
II think my husband could-yes! Inc