The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1899-05-13


To do Dick justice, his behavior I'M
der the trying circumstance was moth
ing short of perfect. He was very upset
at the turn things had taken, not on
his own account-to him life was gen.
orally a joke, and this an exceedingly
good one-but because old Mark took
it so badly. He heard his friends de-
spair in silence, and then did his best
to comfort him. OF course the truth
must not be told, it would never do;
people would not understand, they
never did. 1t was all bosh about the
foreground, just an unfortunate cir
cumstance all in the run of Marks
cursed luck. The picture was sue
cess. and just because the silly fools
on the papers, who were celebrated for
their dullness in appreciation of tai
ent, had chosen to make an idiotic al
fusion to one part of the painting, was
Mark to make an ass of himself before
the world?
So Dick spoke, and Mark listened and
protested, but finally was overruled.
Perhaps the horror of the publicity that
would follow such disclosure, and the
latent belief he had in his own power,
deferred him; at any rate, he remained
silent on the matter. But the look that
would steal across his face when any,
one congratulated him on his success
full work awed even volatile Dick.
Perhaps the hardest trial was Chris
labels letter of delight at his success
-Christabel, his yet unbalanced love,
for whose sake he was greedy of fame.
That he must needs deceive even her!
The burden of his unearned reputa-
ton told upon him. He grew silent,
morose; work was his only solace, work
and the thought of Christabel.
| He must, he would, win honest fame.
If the coy dame, Fortune, would not be
gently courted, she should be wooed
after the fashion of Petruchio, and COM
PEELED to be his.
And at last, blind as she had been for
SO long, Fortune did smile on her per-
sistent sutton, and he could with truth
tell himself that the honors he now en-
joyed were his and no others. Then,
looking round after the hard struggle,
he realized that Dick was not beside
him, that in the swim amongst the
breakers that beset those who seek for
fame, Dick had stayed behind in the
shadows on the shore, and was still
laughing his life away with the chill
drcn there.
With quick rush of shame, the sense
of his deep obligation to his friend
came over Mark. The thought that he
had, as it were, forgotten him seemed
the basest ingratitude; to have sur
passed him, grotesque presumption.
| So that, all unconscious of the feel
ing that prompted it, Dick received a
letter from his old friend, couched in
perhaps more cordial terms than had
marked the days of their closest friend
ship, and once more the two were COM
panions, companions as of old, though
no longer the same. For just as eff
fectually as money transactions often
terminate friendships of years, so did
the obligation under which Mark fret
ted cause restraint between these
two.
Even Dick felt there was something
wrong. In his ignorance, he attributed
it to the fact of Marks greatly superior
circumstances. But he troubled HIM
self little about the matter, taking life
lightly, as was his way, and accepting
Marks proofs of friendship as he would
have given them to Mark, easily and
thoughtlessly.
"Christabel," Mark had said, when at
last work permitted him to take
rest. II have brought my best friend,
Dick Turvil." And Christabel, who had
run to the gate full of glad expectancy
to meet Mark, looked up and greeted
Dick with smile of welcome.
Even as with lovers quickness Mark
noted the startled admiration in Dicks
lingering gaze at Christabel, there had
flashed upon his mind cruel suppo-
sition.
What if fate, not chance, had so willed
It that Dick should thus be at his side
on the eve of his loves avowal? What
if love itself should be demanded of
him as the price of his early fame?
With horrible insistence the idea took
possession of him, robbing the long
expected meeting with Christabel of it's
joy, and staying the passionate declara-
ton of love that trembled upon his
lips.
For the problem that had perplexed
him, and for SO long robbed him of
his peace of mind, he was finding so.
luton; the way to cancel his debt to
Dick was suggesting itself in relent-
less reality. 1t never occurred to Mark
that he was hereby sacrifcinganother's
happiness as we'll as his own. So
grievous had been the blow to his pride,
so hungry was his self-love to stand
clear of the intolerable obligation to
his friend, that he welcomed with al
most fanatical fervor this Quixotic
method of payment that his morbid
sensitiveness had suggested, and so
failed to read the dumb despair in
Christabel's eyes.
Years had passed since that which
had seen Christabel the wife of his
friend, and Mark had, in manner, lived
down his sorrow. That is to say that,
though the remuneration of his love had
made his heart desolate, it had not
wholly ruined his life, and there were
many who envied the successful acad-
emician his renowned talent and the
wealth it brought to him.
Relentless as he had been in his self
sacrifice, he had spared himself the
further pain of meeting his friend as
the husband of Christabel. Perhaps
some slight feeling of embarrassment
or conjunction on Dicks part kept