The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1901-09-17
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Our Daily Short Stories
GARDEN FLOWER OR BANTAM
BY F. H. LANCASTER.
Copyright. 1901, by Authors Syndicate,

rbv were standing together before
wide expanse of canvas. The woman
stndied the painting and the man stud
,sd the woman. He had known her for
wear and yet he knew her not at all.
rba rugged outside of the business
,,oman life was easily comprehended.
u WAS the occasional soft cleaning
of poetic TENDERNESS that puzzled him.
Was it real?
If if was sham, why did she not do
more of it? Certainly it was charm
inc If it was real. how could she in
dnlge in it so little.
And yet again, if it were not real,
how could she stand so fascinated be-
fore such picture-a mass Of pine
TONS against dim night sky, the
trunks lost in the darkness. Low
hands of clouds lay above, and rid
ing over all, a serene ful-moon half
yelled by misty film-the whole
scene POLITICALLY tender-with the evan
escent wistfulness of Frank Stanton's
love songs. Why should it appeal to
this stern woman of affairs?
Vet so strongly did it appeal to her
that she stood there oblivious of all
else Stanford studied her at his leis-
ure.
She was not, particularly cookbook
ing; the broad forehead was. marred
nv deep lines between the brows; the
straight nose had become Aquiline
from habits OF persistent application;
and the mouth was disfigured by an
EXPRESSION of determination. 1t might
have been a good-looking face, even. a
pretty one, Stanford reflected, If the
owner had never got up against the
big things of life and resolved to win
out or die. How absurd to imagine
that those firm lips could have ever
been tenderi .,.s-., ...,s.,,-, 49,
He had had several business trans
actions with her and he knew. her to
be shrewd to hardness. She was the
head of the house that. had published
two or his books and rejected a third
suddenly Stanford remembered why
he had sought her after office hours.
80 your house has decided to refuse
A Light in the Dark?' " he queried.
Yes" she replied with uncompro
missing breyity.
''Why?" lie persisted. There is no
need to mince matters. You are the
head of the house; you must have a
reason and it may prove a valuable
sde-light to me-
y am not a literary critic"
Aye, but why did you refuse to put
out my work?"
NO money in it"
physiological problems may not be
vastly interesting to the multitude,
but" he paused inVitingly.
Whatever is intrinsicdlly good is a
safe inyestment-it will find a market
sooner OF later"
Then you hold that my book is not
intrinsically good? l have been told by
eminent critics that it was a clever
piece of work"
Critics are literary men, not physi-
ognomsts. You cannot make a correct
demonstration from false hypothe-
sis The unwillingness to talk died
from her eyes. and she turned to him
with eager insistence.
You are a physiognomist and a
shrewd one. You understand the mean
ing of every line in the human face;
but YOU have overlooked the underiy
ing lines. You accept to the full that
saying of Enierson's: And the man or
woman who would have remained a
sunny garden flower, with no room for
its roots and too much sunshine for its
mead, by the railing OF the walls and
the neglect of the gardener is made
the bantam of the forest But you have
forgotten, as Emerson forgot, that be
1t ever so much a bantam there must
still be some hint of the sun-loviflg
garden-fiowe at its heart. Even while
giving its branches in stern protection
TO the covering things at its roots, it
must yearn vaguely for sfeltering
walls and sunshine" she turned
abruptly toward the painting.
Stanford moved a step nearer and
stared hard at the canvas. The prob
lem was solved for him. He remem7
bered now that to have heard how at
her fathers death she had taken
charge of the nearly bankrupt house.
by an absolute devotion of time and
energy saved the name from dishonor.
More than that. She had made it one
of the most prosperous concerns in the
city.
Stanford's heart beats quickened.
True, there was small suggestion Of
garden-flower beauty in the strong
marked face Bit in Imagination he
saw it suffused with a shy flush of
gadness, the firm lips broken into lines
of quivering tenderness, the steadiness
Of the eyes lost in-Stanford checked
his hayward fancy with a sharp re-
proof. He was in a public gallery with