The Jersey City news. (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1889-1906, 1899-10-07
NOT FOR PUBLICATION.
An Author Gets an Inspiration
From an Unexpected
Source.



"What a lifef' repeated the mar to
ahimself with almost a writhe. Making
bricks without straw all the year
round. / wish-there, / wish to God
I'd never learned how to writer
And yet It had paid him In solid coin,
80 far. One Of his minor dreams was
realized; thA window Of his writing
room oyerloahed d suburban roadway
along which Earring wheels seldom
ratified; be had got away from tho
whir and dsone Of the town, where bis
nerves had been at q tension all day
long. lie could compose in peace. And
vet be sat with the bitter, idle stare,
clutching q dry pen.
The door behind ereaked; 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, l tell you-siek Of 1t all"
"What is the matterT' She had paus-
ed half way, with hands together.
Cant you writer"
"Wrltel I've nothing to write. I'm
drained dry. And I promised a tragic
| story'-with q half sneer-"for that
Society Sun. Tragici What's the
timer
1T must be nearly g."
"Six7 Dark IN another hour-dusk
nowl 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. Il never help
him! But when have you asked such q
thinga What good would be my tdeas?'
ooh. not much. Women seldom have
real ideas. They're fitting SUPERFICIAL
ties. Stilf'-
A long silence. The door creaked
again, but he knew she had only closed
1t and was still lowering behind him.
He was somewhat surprised, but would
not turn, vaguely conscious OF the
sneer's hollowness. Then
Il never help you." she repeated
calmly. Would you like me to try?
Perhaps something has just come into
my mind. 1t is silly, maybe. as ] tell
it: but you, my husband, might make
1t clever and interesting. You say
your stories are always twaddle as you
hrst set them down.
"Do /? Well. what iAit2" be 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 q woman's heart
in it, I Think she whispered. rs that
any goodY'
"Oh." he said. Her voice had tailed
of as IL she had a real idea, but was
afraid Of the sheer. We'll, 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 cafnesto me, thenY' she said.
Pm not clever enough to know. It's
more Of q sketch, perhaps. III imagin-
ed two lovers, very dear lovers. They
| got married. and there was a beautiful
world before them, with such peace
at the end, If they knew! Make the
mar an artist. He lived for his art.
The girl-the girl was only just a girl;
she lived for the d 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
sillyY7
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 a time even to kiss her, and
the girl-she could never bring herself
to remind him--eh? She stil lived
only for him, but he never cared what
she wore, never thought that her work
might be hard In It's 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 IL 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 be thought it
was something else and spoke harsh
ly and sneered and at last got SO that
he lived In a 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 thaty'
No answer. She could not see, but
the mans outward stare was as If 1t
would never again relax. She went
on a little faster, her voice taking q
thrill-just as though his silence I'M
piled that there might be real dramatic
possibilities in her small inspiration.
Il think my husband could-yes! The
worfd Is useu TO seeing the man SroWs
Indifferent and the IN cold and
pale: but your-you might take the trag~
edy as It IS within the four walls and
make 1t live and throb In there. You
might put It that at first the mans:
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