The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1899-07-14
The Face on the Canvas.


It was at the masinse. The curtain
had fallen upon q one-aet farce and the
house was dafkened for the biograph.
ting together.
Last night" Mabel was saying. 81
dreamed of muddy water. kept dream
ing of it all night long. It came on and
on, rolling up to my feet. The waves
were big, turbulent, threatening. was
afraid"
"a sign of trouble" murmured Flor
ence, that is. unless it cleared. Did 1t
clear?"
mo. It didn't; but what difference did
that make? Do you believe in dreams.
and signs. and wonders, and all the rest
of that tomfoolery?"
Florence pressed the tips Of her gioved
fingers against her mouth to conceal q
yawn. Not necessarily" said she.
when did you hear from Arthur she
asked with a quick change OF subject
Arthur was Mabel's soldier Sweetheart.
THAT is the trouble" sighed Mabel. It
haven't heard from him for ages. but !
am expecting him home daily. His reg1-
ment came last week, but he was not
with It. Perhaps he stopped somewhere
to rest It is a wonder they didn't all
die down theEe in that oven of place.
Then, under her breath. she added, I
hate that dream OF muddy water"
at thought you didn't believe In
dreams?" exclaimed Florence.
81 don't, but"
She was interrupted by the appearance
Of ''Me and jack upon the canvas. There
was a ripple of subdued laughter as the
little girl fell from the ropes into the
water, the dog swimming coolly OF and
leaving here there.
Picture after picture was then present.
ed. There was the naval parade, the war
ships passing up the Hudson, the yachts
skimming swiftly in front Of them. par
TALLY obstructing the view Of the sailors
who stood like white statues along their
decks; next Hobson walked leisurely
down the deck of a little cruiser; then
review of the troops at Tampa was an
nounced.
Perhaps It is Arthur's regiment that
is to be reviewed." whispered Mabel.
clasping her hands ecstatically together.
20. hope SOP
There was a drum beat, and before a
dim vision of white tents the troops pass
ed in review.
"Their faces look sad" said Florence,
land they walk as II they were tired to
death"
A white dog, the mascot of the regi-
ment, occupied the center of the canvas
for a second, soldier following. piece
Of paper foated along behind. Then came
a row of SIX stalwaFt men.
The man in front suddenly turned his
face toward the audience. He looked
straight at Mabel. His eyes were hollow
and sad. Intense WEAKNESS was stamp
ed upon every line OF his gaunt features.
Mabel looked eagerly forward. She laid
hold of F1orence's arm.
Look. Florence" she gasped. look,
It Is Arthur
In q moment the face was gone from the
canvas, others had taken its place, the
drum ceased to beat, the review was
over and the canvas was dark again.
Mabel hurriedly gathered up her be-
Lodgings. her fan, her handkerchief, her
opera glasses.
What are you about?" asked Flor
ence, "the thing is not half over"
"I can't help It." said Mabel. 'T must
20 now. The heat in here Is stihfng. I
must have the fresh air."
Outside she trembled so that Florence
took her arm.
''If I were you" she said, 81 should
be glad 1 saw him. Why did you worry
so?"
Ills eyes were hollow and sad" stam-
mered Mabel "and his cheeks were thin.
He looked so tired, so dead tired o,
Florence, suppose he is Ill, suppose-O,
remember my dream"
IT thought you didn't believe in
Dreams" S
az don't. I don't. Who but an idiot
would believe in such rank foolishness-
but YOU can't help thinking"
BY the time they reached the house
Florence had coaxed the girl into some
thing like her old gayety. She laughed
at a bit of her nonsense az they ran up
the steps together.
They passed into the hall. On table
lay a letter. Mabel took II up and held
1t between her forefinger and thumb. 1t
was old and yellow. A dozen postmarks
dishgured the face Of It, upon which there
was no stamp.
Florence took II from her. II will open
1t for YOU" said she.
Mabel sank upon her knees on the car
pet She remained there trembling. her
white face cIasped between her slender,
bloodless fingers.
She saw once more the tired face on
the canvas. the weary limbs dragging lag
gingly along, the hollow eyes peering
straight into hers In all the sadness OF
last farewell.
For before Florence could read tie con-
tents of the letter-her heart had guessed
the truth.-The Criterion