The Washington times., 1903-08-02

summoned his secretary To be sure
he had not looked ct her for a week. but
then
Did you call mo-"
He looked UP and gasped Dawson was
right. In spite OF all his precautions he
had beauty on his hands What a
predicament for a young and suscepti-
bic chap to be in, And the author
groaned inwardly as he noted each de-
tail of the distracting vision that con-
fronted him-the delicious bit of white
throat that showed above the stiff, man.
nish collar; the eyes, a deep violet; the
curledrred lips; the hair. a mass of soft
ly cleaning gold But what miracle had
wrought this change, he asked himself.
Then he remembered that when she had
come to him she was unhappy, dlscouT-
aged, probably half starved, and, most
important of all, had been reduced TO
the stage of despair in which a woman
no longer Fixes her hair. That was It,
of course; but now
She saw that something was wrong
and started forward in alarm
what is ft?" she asked, anxiously.
Something about my work?''
NO" answered the author. slowly:
mot about your work He tapped his
ruler on the desk and looked out OF the
window. 1t was a very awkward situa-
ton to explain.
About me, them Her voice sounded
as. though she were on the verge of
tears.
'Tf che cries I'm done for" thought
the author, SO he plunged in desper-
ately. his eyes on the third story of
the building opposite.
II must confess am disappointed in
YOU" he began. I'm fact, 1-er- en-
gagged you entirely under a misundeI-
standing"
He stopped. looked at her and felt
like a brute.
ooh, II you only knew what It was TO
me-this situation she sai5 Cand the
tears were per;lously near now. Il
know I have faults. bat III try ana cor
rect this, whatever 1t is you object to-"
I'm afraid this fault cannot be over
come" He gazed at her ruefully. Tt
er-it seems to grow upon you. In
fact. I'm afraid it's growing upon me.
Don't ask me what II is he broke off
hastily. stopping the question on her
lips. 81 can't explain, Dur-I'H try 20
overlook it If It doesn't ger any worse"
But it did grow worse every minute
for the violets were vet now. and the
pathetic droop of her lips was-wall. it
couldn't be helped. The Author had
done his best.
Yesterday the Fair Philosophe- con-
aded to the Author that she. too. had
literary aspirations. sne rad been pit
ing the end of her pen meditatively for
some time and gazed abstractedly out
OF the window. Suddenly she turned
toward him.
DO you ever have anything you wrote
sent back" she asked.
Occasionally it takes the Author some
little time to adjust his train Of thought
to that of the Fair Philosopher. She is
somewhat abrupt in her introduction
and change OF subjects. He lit a cigar, |
blew a ring of smoke into the air and |
poudered for moment
She repeated her question.
Never" he replied at length Il
sprang upon the public Minerva like
THE very first thing you ever sent to |
an editor was accepted she inter- /
rupted. incredulous.
The very first thing"
What was it?''
"A check for years subscription to |
his magazine
IF you would be serious for few mo-
nents," she remarked with an air of Of !
tended dignity which suits her to a mar
Tel, you might help me. for I should /
ike to find out what these editors will /
she added. with a despairing
sigh.
Well, what do you want me TO do? |
Give you a recipe for popular novel?
can do that easily enough"
She fixed her eyes on the author ex-
her chin in her palm, her ell
DOW on the desk.
First" he began. leaning back in his
hair and following the smoke rings
lloft with meditative eye, take a large
nd commodious dish. preferably an
ique; stir IN equal portions of historic
act and fiction: sprinkle freely with
uels, midnight assassinations and hair
breadth escapes, and then add one man
md one maid (these ingredients to be
rst mixed separately until a love af-
air results); then stir in your villain. Il