The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-07-20

4 Gill 6AdA II SAOOa OuL against Il PuDAASA
ers when, they protested. If 1 had yielded
TO thems I should lave been untrue TO my
convictions. and I should have been obliged
10 have rewritten at least a quarter of
the book. No. 1 did right in letting it stand.
Lie is a mockery. and love is-well. what
is it?"
When he got back to his lodgings again
he longed TO ask old Betty Penrose ques-
lions concerning Mrs. George Coad, but he
could not max up his mind TO do so.
Something held him back. He knew not
what.
For three days he roamed quietly around
the lanes. and along the seacoast. He
asked no questions about y neither
did he enter into any conversation concern
ing the people he had known years before.
On the morning Of the third day he
received a letter from his publishers,
asking him for the sake of the success
of his new novel, as well as for his own
reputation, to re-write the latter part of
the story.
w have known each other several
years." ran the letter, "or 1 should not
take the liberty of suggesting the altera-
ton; but in view of what ! am sure you
will recognize later, if not just now, 1 do
urge you to do so.
First, the story as it stands is so de-
pressing and morbid that it will not COM
mand a large sale; second, 1 hold that an
author should not give to the public a book
which is only a wall of despair. That there
is sadness and disappointment in life 1 adj
NIT; but surely an author should e%ndeavor
TO make life glad and bright instead of
charging upon and accentuating the fact
of misery and disappointment.
Third, it is in my opinion an untrue
reading of life. That your story is clever
l admit; but Ii is not true. There is more
joy than sorrow in our short existence.
more laughter than tears. Moreover, il is
only to the comparatively few that life
ends in tragedy.
Forgive my saying this, my dear Ire
mayne: but 1 feel strongly about the mat
ter. Surely, too, you, who are now amidst
the scenes of your boyhood. will realize
that 1 am right; and as you see the hap
piness of the rustic villagers and watch the
bliss Of boy and girl lovers will be led TO
rewrite the part of the story we hope to
bring out in the autumn"
Victor laughed bitterly. "Bendle is as
bad as the rest of the world" he cried.
He, with the rest of the worlds fools,
wants to keep up the illusion that life is
happy"
Putting on his hat he went out into the
garden. 1t was a glorious morning. The
sun sailed in an almost cloudless sky, while
the wind which came in from the sea made
the air sweet and invigorating. After all,
he could not deny that nature was very
beautiful. and that the villagers seemed
happy.
A minute later. two sturdy boys came into
the garden. Apparently they were seven
or eigh years of age, and on their faces
was the hue of health.
GOOD morning. my lads" said Victor.
GOOD mornin'. SIR replied the elder of
the two, politely. Il be come to see Mrs.
Penrose. plaise. sir"
Have you? Well, she is indoors. And
whose fine boys are your"
Mr. George Coad's. plaise, sir"
Victor looked at them steadily. He tried
to trace in their faces some likeness TO
Ruth Enedor. as he had known her ten
years before. but he could not.
And who do you resemble. father or
mother?" he managed to say.
Some do gay we be like mother, and
some do gay we be like father, and some
do gay we bean't like nuther one" was
the reply. But, plaise. sir. we must make
'aste, cos father'll be ere with the boss
and cart d~reckly."
Victor opened the gate and went into
the lane. Coming towards him was a farm
horse and cart. The man who drove the
horse cracked his whip, and gazed around
contentedly. A minute later Victor came
close to George Coad. The young farmer
was a short, thick-set man. He was rather
a bad specimen of a Cornish agriculturist
His face betokened an unintelligent, I'M
thinking man; it was also suggestive of
much eating and beer.
"Mornin', sir" said Coad.
GOOD morning. said Victor. and then he
laughed bitterly.
Fancy Bendle skiing me to alter my
book, while Ruth is married to him!" he
said, bitterly. IF she is as she used to be,
her life must be a constant misery; and
if she is happy with him. then she must
have sunk 10 his level. in which case the
tragedy of her life is greater than ever. No,
1 can't alter it,"
He spent the morning by the sea, during
the afternoon he wrote some letters. and
then, when evening came on, he walked
again in the direction of the house where
Ruth lived years before.
How quiet, how restful everything isl
he unused. mo wonder I used to think it
beautiful years ago. But 1 really cannot
stand it. I shall go mad if l stay here. The
thought of Ruth married to
He stopped suddenly, for a turn in the
road brought him face to face with the
woman he had loved years before. In the
eyes of the young man she had altered but
little. Nothing could be more unlike his
picture Of a stout farmers dame who was
the mother of seven healthy boys and girls.
She was tastefully dressed, she carried her
self with grace and ease, and her general
appearance altogether belied his fancies
concerning her. 1t is true her face looked
thoughtful. If not sad; in her eyes. too,
was an expression of unsatished yearning;
nevertheless. no one could associate her
with anything coarse or sensual.
GOOD evening"" he said.
Good evening"" she replied, and as she
looked into his face Victor thought she
flushed painfully.
II saviour boys this morning" he
stammered. ''They-they-were-my word,
You nave scarcely altered these last ten
years"
"No, things don't alter much in this part