Gloucester County Democrat., 1899-10-12
NOT FOR PUBLICATION.
An Author Gets an Inspiration
From an Unexpected
Source.


"What a lifeg repeated the man to
himself with almost writhe Making
bricks without straw all the year
round. | wish-there, | wish to God
I'd never learned how to writer
And yet 1t 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 jarring 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.
clutehing dry pen.
The door behind creaked; a woman
glided In on tiptoe. Don't start-it's
only l." she whispered.
Don't startg' 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.
Cant you writer"
"WrlteI I've nothing to write. I'm
drained dry. And promised tragic
story"-with a half -"for that
Society Sun Tragic! What's the
timer
1T must be nearly G."
"Six7 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. II never help
him! But when have you asked such
thing? What good would be my ideas Z"
ooh, not much. Women seldom have
real ideas. They're fitting SUPERFICIAL
ties. Still
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 hoIlowness. Then
81 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
1t; but you, my husband. might make
lsit clever and Interesting. You say
your stories are always twaddle as you
first set them down"
do /? Well, what is it?" he said,
staring across at the opposite roofs.
'sThis situation is novel. Go on. Never
mind as long as there is anything at all
In it,
There is-there is woman's heart
in it, think" she whispered. rs that
any good"
"Oh" he said. Her voice had tailed
off as if she had a real idea, but was
afraid of the sneer. 'sWell. there usual
ly is; that's one of the component
parts Of the average story. Even bumor
is the brighter for tragedy lurking in
the background. you know. Anything
in the heart? That's the point. Yes;
anything in this heart?T
Another silence. Couldn't / tell you
Just as it came to me, thenT she said.
I'm not clever enough to know. It's
more of sketch, perhaps. Ii imagin-
ed two lovers, very dear lovers. They
/
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 1t so
siIlyY
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 in 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 II 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 1t
was something else and spoke harsh
~ and sneered and at last got so that
he lived In 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 thatT'
No answer She could not see, but
the mans outward stare was as II 1t
would never again relax. She went
on a little faster. her voice taking a
thrill just as though his silence Inn
piled that there might be real dramatic
possibilities iE her small Inspiration
Il think my husband coCld-yes! The
m