Barre evening telegram. (Barre, Vt.) 1898-19??, 1899-10-03
NOT FOR PUBLICATION.
An Author Gets an inspiration
From an Unexpected
Source.

"What lifew repeated the man to
him self with almost writhe. Making
bricks without straw ALI the year
round. | wish-there, 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 a suburban roadway
along which Earring wheels seldom
ratified; he had got away from the
whir and drone Of the town, where his
nerves had been at a tension all day
long. He could compose in peace. And
yet he sat with the bitter, idle stare,
clutching dry pen.
The door behind creaked; woman
glided in on tiptoe. Don't start-it's
only L." she whispered.
Don't start!' 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 matterY She had paus-
ed half way. with hands together.
Cant you writer
drained dry. And l promised tragic
story"-with a half sheer-"for that
Society Sun. Tragic! What's the
timeY'
ut 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 word"
"Never help your she echoed; and
repeated 1t to herself. II never help
him! But when have you asked such
thing? What good would be my ideas"
"Oh. not much. Women seldom have
real ideas. They're fitting SUPERFICIAL
ties. Stilr'-
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
sneers 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 l 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,
tr
in it, think" she whispered. lis that
any good?'
"Ohv he said. Her voice had tailed
off as If she had 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 a 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, II 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 hin
in ways that he would never know anC
checked her singing and moved SOFTLY
so that he SHOULD never be disturbed al
his work. You're not writing. Is 1t st
sillyY
Go on" he whispered. "There-
there's nothing to write yet"
THAT went on for years. The man
deeper and deeper In his work. neve
saw that his wife was changing. tina
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. an'
the girl-she could never bring hersel
; to remind him-eh? She still live
only for him. but he never cared VIVA
she wore. never thought that her worl
might be hard In It's little way. ant
that there are some women for whom
years Of such silence and LONELINESS
, spells death-sr worse. She was al
: ways crying at first and never dared t
tell him why If he did not see for him
p self and kept out of his way so tina
his mind should not be spoiled TO
work. And he-say that he thought
was something else and spoke harsh
' " and sneered and at last got so tina
he lived In a world of his own an
wouldn't open his door when-when h
knew that her heart was bursting ou
: side, longing for one kind word agai1
: Or-or-something like that. Gould 20
@ begin anything with that?
0 No answer. She could not see. Dt
y the mans outward stare was as If
would never again relax. She wer
on a little faster, her voice taking
n thrill-just as though his silence in
:. piled that there might be real dramat
+. possibilities in her small inspiration.
$ II think my husband could-yes! I'll
b world Is u,ed to scc.La the man groN
Indifferent, and the woman cold an
. pale; but you--you might take the tiat
edy as it Is within the four walls an
make 1t live and throb III 1ncre. 1o
e. might put 1t that at first the man
" mistake was in always stra'nihS 70
y ward to his goal. forgetting that til
hnppiest time is now-forgetting hoy
n when he looks at, last he Will not nm