Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1904-12-01
THE THINGS
THAT ARE =
By r. II. LANcAsTER
tcopyrisht. 1904. BY Daily story Pub. Col

sne pointed silently to the last lines On
Lewis Highway" he snapped on MS
glasses, frowning slightly as he READ.
But be our haven near or far we put
our trust in things that are"
1.-THE things that are" she repeated
significantly.
"You have been thinking 1t over! To
be deep thing or whimsical"
Rather deep-earnest, at any rate.
ITO pivot on a man or woman"
Woman. But you had better pivot II
on a man, for you don't know a thing
in the world about women"
Nothing; except that there is no
telling from what point Of view woman
will approach an issue"
1.-THE things that are, are hard on a
woman" he muttered. thoughtfully.
But a man has greater reverence fof
them" ~"
Madison studied the poem, by his
expression neither accepting nor REJECT
ing her assertion. He looked tired-ano
he was. But, Indian like, had taken up
this additional task to convince his nag
ging energies that they were not SO near
ly spent as they seemed to be. HAD
taken 1t up and carried 1t across the hall
to Daisy Dunbar's den. Being won't TO
come to her because she had enough
common sense to take man In his
mood. Not many women had that much,
he fancied. Also he had on several oc-
casions found this practical young per-
son very present help in rush. Pres
emily he sunk his lean jaws into his lean
palms and said, still staring at the poem
spread out before him: II need not only
a title, but first line and a last line
and a plot"
"You have your last line in the quota
ton"
Possibly. we put our trust in things
that are Yes"
"You have your first line in the quota
ton"
Madison looked dubious, his tired
mind not yet reaching to the spring OF
hers.
"Why, Of course you have. "A first
line should catch the attention What
more strikingly beautiful, or beautl-
fully striking than this" And slowly
she read the lines upside down:
eco, pipe your song and dream your
dream,
And feed your soul on things that seem;
But be our haven near or far,
we put our trust in things that are
ooh, yes; that way. Perhaps"
"And you have your plot in the quo
tation."
Howl"
'Tn Its pathetic pervssity isn't 1t the
overheard cry of the human bearing
witness to the well-night futility OF
Heavens best planned pleasures for
man? II you pivot your story on man
strike out in few Of your strong
strokes hero gifted beyond the ken OF
most men, and throw across his path the
unusual woman-the woman who can
comprehend him in all his moods and
phases, then against the high, white
light of his love for her paint the story
of his struggle against the ascendancy
of the things that are, flashing across
the gloom of it the fitful flares Of mans
Unborn horror of ridicule, his AFFECT
terror Of doing the unusual; and sink
him at last to the sullen commonplace
of the tangible. Marry him to the widow
who wore violets in her bonnet and
mourning of the type most approved OF
man. There's your plot"
Madison had been staring steadily at
the poem from under bent brows. When
Daisy made an end he pulled out, and
showed toward her without speaking,
the editors instructions: ".You will un-
derstand that We want something with q
touch Of to-day in 1t: natural and real"
There is no touch Of to-day in what
you have been saying" he grumbled!
"Nothing natural, nothing real"
And instead Of being exasperated by
his disgruntled ingratitude, Daisy only
replied In q tone Of thoughtful conVic-
ton:
well, yes, there are several touches"
and lay back in her chair contentedly
studying the contrasting shades OF the
blue blotter on the green baise while
Madison sulked because the subtle
analogies of her sharpened perception
were but as blurs to his tagged out
| faculties.
you have been plotting the thing to
pivot on a woman" he broke out, frac-
tiously. "a man has no such horror OF the
unusual as you imagine. In the natural
sequence Of things he would marry the
woman he loved and let the widow and
her proper mourning go to the bow
vows. It IL only the weak that fear
criticism"
Most men are weak" Daisy mur-
INJURED. abstractedly. With q scarcely
perceptible movement she turned on
tiny gas Jet at her elbow, lit q cigarette
turned on the flame. and fell to smok-
ing quiet continuity Of cigarettes that
betokeped abstraction. certainly, but IN
no wise limited at impatience, disap-
rcintrant mr. disdain. Her poige pro