The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1899-01-10

But Max Eddington did not find it so
easy to interest the public in his new
phase of mind. The book he wrote
with his life blood--as be believed
was lamentably Knocked at.
| MY dear sir" said his publisher
| when the quarters sales were announc-
! cd, "cynicism won't do, unless its-in
! short
Unless it's quite frst-class. you
mean.
"Oh, no, I don't say that. But there
! is something in your suggestion. Try
| your old style, Mr.. Eddinc on, and
you'll soon regain your earlier posi-
| tion."
For bread and buffers sake, Max
attempted to follow his publishers ad-
! vice. But his old spontaneity was
| gone. Miss Lonsdale had done him
| more harm than either he or she had
| any idea of.
In about year Max understood that
he had shot his bolt; he had had his
brief spell of triumph; it behooved him
! TO train for a long spell of neglect
ana sordid striving.
He went to Paris working as an un-
! attached journalist and living how he
could.
His attic in the Latin Quarter was
| not comfortable, but it was more so
than his thoughts.
Having what is called the artistic
! temperament, he suffered very much.
| he grew morbid; so that the dead
bodies on their slabs in the morgue in
terested him in more ways than one.
Things were thus with him when, one
May evening, he chanced in the court
yard Of the Grand Hotel, to see Miss
Lonsdale and her mother They were
dressed as befltted the place; he scarce
ly
| Urged by impulse, he accosted Mar
garet Lonsdale. paying no heed to Mrs.
Lonsdale's levelled glasses and naughty
demeanor of unwelcome.
Miss Lonsdale was at least kind.
Something of pity later came into her
eyes as she remarked the great change
in Max's manners and dress.
| Mother" she said, II hope Mr..
Eddington will dine with us?"
Thank you, no." replied Max.
| Those times are over with me. Mrs.
| Lonsdale perceives it if you do not.
Pray don't let me detain you. either"
He was moving away, when Miss
Lonsdale stopped him.
AT least tell us your address," she
said.
oh" said Max. with pleasure" He
| wrote it on an envelope. There are
fifty-nine steps to it. l imagine that
will suffice. Good-evening."
He went away feeling Satisfied with
himself.
But he was less satisaeG-st first
when, the next afternoon, the concipI sc
gave him an envelope and said that two
ladies' hal called, and thar the younger
Of them had slipped this into his hands
The two bank notes uf G5 each.
That night, having lit his pipe with
cne of the bank notes, Max rejOiced IN
"A return of downright forcibe inspira-
ticn. Ere morning; he had written the
first act Of a play which he believed
WOULD go to the heart of a British
theatre crowd.
Edie Williams, too, was undergoing
strange vicissitudas -viclssitudes that
shocked part of Bidwell, and excited
the envy of some others in that mod
est provincial town.
Her aunt had died, leaving her bare
| ly enough to live upon; and she had
| sought and obtained an engagement, as
Kate Burden in Londol theatre.
She did not leap to the top os the tree
in week, but she showed such talent
that in less than six months she was
entrusted with the r" cins's part in a
rew play of remarkable power.
She made the Torture Of that play
LcndC n had nothing but praise for her
Her photographs appeared in the shop
"'EGOws. araSraph5 we're written
about her, and managers w0oed her.
2u: Edie kepc remarkably cool our
inE the excitement.
She did not pr .ss for more than $50
week, though she nigh. have got
double for the asking,
She lived i'm a handsome :at alone
with her maid-for her art and nothing
else, she tried 10 convince herself,
though there was that in her heart that
told her differently.
Max Eddington had disappeared like
a burst bubble. No one knew any,
thing about him-or cared
So It seemed TO Edie, though her
faithful mind again and again discuss
ed him and wondered and wished
she scarcely knew what.