The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1901-10-11
THE STORY OF CLARE.

| about her.
Have you been TO the students bau in
! the Latin quarter If not I cannot help
| you with descriptions. The good family
journals Of America would not ike
| them. There il is so different # any
thing happens worth while it is news.
one can earn frame for ten lines OF in
| cidents out Of the ordinary. The stu
| dents ball IS eXtraOrdinary-alW I
/ have often wondered why the so-called
/ yellow journals OF this country do not
! send special correspondents there 10 tell
/ stories about the rich idlers who scan
! uailze themselves and their country there
with their vulgarity and yellow behav-
/ Ior il would seem 10 be good stun for
/ the scandal mongers.
But my story is not a scandal. I was
a bison at the ball-that is. l was at
l tired as an American buffalo, and my dis
| guise was impenetrable I was deep in
my fifth glass of absinthe and ice water
when she came in and-I was alone.
Something about her carriage, her yell
low braids, her tossing crest, caught my
! eye. Her naSque was down. but l rec
ognized her partner as my friend kelso,
the Kansas eccentric, an American Ike
myself, whose failures. like my own, were
already history IN the quarter. 1 think
there was something in the perfume that
eXuded from her garments that fixed my
certainty as to her identity. I'm not
sure, but, anyhow, I finished my lonely
slipping and approached the table where
they sat.
." Your pardon, Mmoiselle, said, lay
ing my hand on Kelso's shoulder. Then
1 whispered to him. He rose, bowed with
the grand air and walked away. 1 re
moved the bewhiskered skull that en-
numbered mine. and looking at her mar
rowly, said:
You see. Clare. have discovered
she raised her glass Of wine with fair
deception, but I could see that it trem-
bled. I could hear it clinking gently
against her pearl-white teeth.
Clare? she murmured, My name is
not Clare
When did you leave Chicago?'
asked, ignoring her answer. Her voice
assured me
Chicago? Oh, that is in America,
she laughed. But the laugh convinced
me.
Yes, in America, murmured. I
have just returned from Chicago.
Her hand was shaking now She look
ed at the cleaning gas lights and through
the eye-holes of her masque 1 could see
the glimmer of tears.
Oh
THAT was all, but the sigh that went
with the stertorous monosyllable had in
il a world of longing.
90 I saw them both, said I.
60 And they were?
Her sweet voice trembled as she left
the final question unasked. But her white
hand stole slowly round by her white
throat and tugged for a moment at the
ribbons that held her masque. 1t fell in
her lap. Her big blue eyes were fixed on
the furthest door, but tear-wet and lumi-
nous with smoldering fire.
And they were2
Well I answered, noting the quick
flash of gratitude that answered me. (
They were well and
q" And what did they say2 Her fingers /
were pinching the table cloth now and the
tears were trickling down her pink I
cheeks
They asked for you a score of times I
" God bless them. And did they seem I
to remember me2
." Remember you? Certainly I told (
them I would see you; that I was coming 1
back to Paris and that l would send you
to them.
"Clare's head was bowed now. and
could see her matchless body SILVER with .
the sobs that shook her.
What else?' she asked, at last.
90 I saw your father.
" And did you see mother? The hand I
kerchief dropped and her reddening eyes (
stared at me in hesitant distress.
% Poor Clare ! answered. holding her
hand as in the school days of the far {
time. Poor Clare. Have you not heard?' I
e" I have heard nothing. she said .
ferceIy. my father never writes TO me. (
Mother has not written for months. Ny /
husband the dog. has not the manhood Z
even 10 care for his own flesh and blood. /
How could I know | am wandering over
Europe like a mendicant. What is there
left to a divorced woman? Marriage {
1 have been engaged a dozen times De-
cent? Is il decent to accept gifts from
ones ffance? Win my own way2 Yes,
can win and have won my way to
dozen mems hearts. Wat them Am
to sell myself for a home. a protector,
clothes subsistence ! cannot work. l
could not earn the price of a lodging at
any decent trade. ] can neither sing nor
act. Ny face and my figure are my cap
ital. a pretty bait indeed for woman
to dangle before the world
she bit lser red lips in hysterical rage,
and after a moment asked quietly:
Is mother desd?'
Since June I told her
And my babies?
with the good Sisters of st. Joseph.
90 Dressed in blue Bingham like common
orphans? she rauted.
+" But thinking Of you and praying
y0u'n come home to them
Her body shook with a storm Of sohs.
Her yellow hair tumbled in radiant tress-
rs down upon her slender fingers The
music from the ballroom came Hitting
across through the palms, but above IL,
harsh and metallic, was the ciang or
wine glasses and the Taucous laughter Of
The roysterers. For ten minutes she said
nothing. Inc clock struck 1 in the
morning.
VIII You 60 home?' I Whispered
d" Home she repeated absently, what
home have ~
She almost sneered AT me as she stared
across the narrow table. fitting her empty
wine glass as she looked. and them
Cd How easy Il is for you men 70 talk
But your chiIdren need You, 1 ven
.urcd.
60 ooh. il is no longer me they need she
answered. 7 have already given them an
had They have been sucked and
,herished IL their bahyhooG- bore them,
nourishod them: they are big enough
n need clothes and education ard MONEY
These I cannot give them. much a. d
would Ike to. I only know how 20 spend ]
money ] can't make IT. when I was
divorced I fought for the possession az
nv little ones II was selfish % me
leeded them. God knows I need them
low. but what have I got 70 give ln Re- G
urn2 Nothing al all Nothing, nothing
,othi1g
"1eiso came in at that moment and 3
ne replaced her masque. / saw them {
.fterward on the foor ~ the ballroom.
nd she seemed recklessly gay she
lever came back 70 Chicago. So Tar IS 3
an learn but her husband Is married 3
eain and shines with respiende1t llster q
ow as q phuanthrorist and man q al q
airs. Q
The children. nan and maiden noW.
re living a thousand miles apart Thev 81
srite fifty letters year 70 each other. 3
nd FRI every one they wonder where =
mamma is.
THAT is the story OF Ciare."-John i. !
.aftery. 81
L--.I.r- Co =