The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1902-01-09


ders worked by that check. 1t
smoothed away more asperities and re-
stored good-humored smiles to more
frowning faces than any similar
amount of money was ever able to do
before. And it was made so easily, and
1T would be so easy to make more!
Then for some bewildering months
Madge found herself going irresistibly
along with the current. She wrote in
the new style with fatal facility, and
her work found market so readily
that there was no time for thought.
There were no longer any small, irri-
tating debts to vex the souls of the
young gentlewomen, and all three of
them were able to have wraps as the
cold weather came on. How long they
had gone without land had pretended
with airy laughter that they found the
weather really oppressive when they
were half frozen. Tradesmen who had
been rude became espectful-such a
promoter of courtesy is the reputation
of being in easy circumstances.
And Madge had letters from this and
that magazine, asking for her picture
and a sketch of her life. Critics COM
mented on the amusing character of
her work, and even found in it won
derful depth of philosophy and a sur
prising knowledge of human nature.
She was invited to become a member
of literary societies and press clubs.
Young editors of new-fedged maya
zines besought her to furnish articles
for the opening understanding
bright and catchy-something in the
style of MA James Quiltin'," or "The
Ghost Jim Saw"
"0il, how my ambitions have all been
wrecked" she cried, piteously, one
day. 81 know 1 am capable of better
work than this. | feel ashamed of all
this notoriety. I have degenerated in
10 a mere scribbler of comic sketches
"A kind of clown, whose business it is
to grin and prance and make funny
speeches, to keep the people on the
benches amused"
"Stil, we paid the milIman," said
Kate, succinctly, looking up from her
work.
"And after awhile you will be able to
go on with your real work." added
Marian, hopefully.
81 wonder if l ever can?" she unused,
wistfully. 81 wonder if the world will
let me do it? Somehow, I am afraid
they will refuse to let me wash off the
paint and be my real self"
One evening she was tempted out
to some social function at the house
of friend and there she met certain
great editor. For one awful moment
she wondered if he had ever heard of
her-if he knew that she was living.
1t appeared presently that he had
taken cognizance of her existenc
some time before, and had followed
her career with interest; that he had
even, on his own confession, been
somewhat ANXIOUS 20 meet her.
Can you call it career?" she
asked, with a touch of bitterness in
her voice. 81 have drifted into it al
most unconsciously-but it is not
what I once thought my lifework
would be-"
'Since you have been so frank" said
the great man, unbending, 81 will ad-
NIT that l have thought you carable
of higher class of work"
Madge lifted pale face and looked
at him. He was the editor who had
sent back the beautiful story that
wrote itself.
"What would you do" she asked,
with thrill in her young voice, ''if
you were poor, and could not wait;
if there were others depending on
you-if anxieties were crushing your
very SOUL"
"Well," he said, carefully, "there
are higher duties, perhaps, than mere
ly writing what one likes to write. Per-
haps we are too quick to judge what's
our lifework. If we only knew, it may
be that our lifework is keepingth pot
boiling, and paying debts, and taking
care of those dependent on us. 1t
seems a pity that-that we cannot all
work out our dreams. You see, hav-
ing once established reputation of
lHlS hlHus ouS DtCOultS las Save lUSIedu
of its master. I regret that l did not
have the opportunity to examine some
of your serious work before you start
ed out on this line. There might have
been great power in it. I judge that
you would have written with strength
and no doubt with wonderful path
os"-for he had seen the glance she
turned on him.
She read it over again that night aft
er she went home-the story that he
had returned-the story that wrote it.
self. Her pen was going until long aft
err the morning star had risen, and the
story which she sent Aim that day,
and which he published soon after,
was pronounced by competent judges
to be far more amusing than anything
else she had written. Kate shrieked
with laughter over 1.-THE, editor in
that story was so droll, and the coun-
try girl with her inconsequent dreams
of greatness and her absurd little am
hitions-was there ever anything so
amusing? But Marian read the story
in silence and looked up at Madge with
little wistful anxiety.
"Madge, are you giving up the old
dreams?" she asked.