The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1900-03-22
Not a Writing Man
BY Constance Cotterell.
ME Boy stood and locke d and looked


at the Girl. twas by no means the
first time he had met her, and he would
have been extremely glad to know that
1t was the last. That is to say, he would
have wished, Of all things in the world,
never to part from her again. But this,
he acknowledged TO himself, was past
hoping for. All her people were SO
clever, everybody she knew had written
something or other, she was only used
to the very most intellectual persons.
Why, even this party that he was now
at was given in the great room at the
end Of her fathers garden where he
wrote his wonderful books. And he
he was such a countrified fellow. He
only had money and ridiculous, quite
Intellectually useless strength OF body.
He could only shoot and hunt, and play
games. and manage dogs and horses.
Boorish pursuits, he thought, despair
ingly. Once he frightened for mo-
lnent as he looked round the crowd Of
nervous, narrow-shouldered men.
I'D bet anything not one of 'em could
bring down a pheasant at a hundred
yards" he said, and almost chuckled to
himself.
Nobody took any notice Of him. He
felt that he had hardly any right to be
there. II he had taken a composition
prize at school, or even so much as writ
ten latter to the papers, he felt that
he need not have stood there so
ashamed. Once She in her capacity as
young hostess had come and spoken to
him. Very shyly. What single thing
pid fellow as he have? And so she had
left him alone after taking him to one
or two girls whom he supposed to en-
body genius in its most terrible form,
the feminine specimen, and who there
fore found, and left, him dumb.
So he wandered off into far corner,
for IL was large room, and when he
had put himself behind n small grove
of portfolios he could watch her with
out being seen or being in anybody's
way. For long time he gazed at her,
very fair and in white, with what he
called a lump Of black velvet against
her shining white shoulder. Then at
last she was lost to him in throng far
away at the other end of the room. He
turned his back on everybody, and
looked with a curious, ingenious won
der at some Inca drawings which were
in the corner on the wall.
He did not observe that the noise Of
voices grew less and less, and then
ceased altogether. He was lost in a
dream Of Her until suddenly he was
awakened by the electric lights going
out altogether and the sound Of key
turning in the lock of the door. He
listened acutely then. and heard the
gay voices growing fainter outside, as
the guests went along the Chinese Ian
termed path into the house to supper.
He started out of his corner to rush for
the door and try to make somebody
hear him. But he entangled himself
among the portfolio stands with loud
noise. and when he extricated himself
and felt cautiously round in the dark
ness for landmarks he found that he
had lost his bearings. The sounds out
side died away.
He stood still and wondered what he
should do. And where was She? What
more worthy man was handing her to
supper? His teeth came together at
the thought. 1t had been his one final
daring hope, to take herinto supper this
very last time-and then retire to vege-
tate and slowly die in the empty coun.
try. And even this had been denied
him. He felt chair near and sat heav-
fly down.
Then his sharpened senses seemed