Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1904-01-21

CHE was leaning back in her chair
y very tired. The day was a hot
one, and the room, the highest in a tall
building, was stuffy and close. It was
a bare-looking room, furnished with
a mean desk, a chair or two and a piece
of mating. There were no blinds on
the tall windows, which were covered
with dust and looked over a long and
narrow court up which at intervals
wagons numbered to the s~ide-doors
OF warehouses. The woman walked
YEARLY to the windows and looked out.
Far below the sun shone on a heap of
lumber that lay along the wall, and a
gray cat picked her way among the
planks. Dirty papers swirled and ed
died in the hot wind. A woman with
a mop and pail crossed the yard and
entered an opposite building. Present
ly she r%eappeared standing on the sill
of a window and sending the mop up
and down the dusty panes. The other
woman watched her at her work, and
a faint envy was expressed in her eyes.
Il wish I were She" she said tiredly.
How she must sleep at night! Oh!
to be really tired, really worn out, the
way women are who wash and scrub
and work with their hands, and have
no time for hoping and fearing. Oh!
to be dog-tired. What a sleep l would
have" Then she laughed. "And she,
if she looks up, will be envying me here
idling at the window" she said. She
looked back at her desk, at the dis
order OF loose sheets covered with mar
row writing which lay about the floor,
at the little stack Of white, blank
pages. Il must get back to it," she
murmured, stepping to her swing chair
and resting a moment against it's I'M
easy back. A bell rang. Give
O'clock" she cried out aloud, ''and that
article on Platonic Love to be finished
by seven. What or earth made Plato
start a theory of his own when love is
the same to-day as it was in the garden
OF Eden" She sat down and dipped
her pen into the ink-pot. She thought
quietly for a moment, then began to
write
"Platonic love is not possible be-
tween men and women who have
brains and sex"
A short, hard step coming sturdily
along the passage stopped her. Her
office door was half of muffed glass,
and she heard distinctly. She threw
the pen from her and listened. 1t was
a long passage, and her room was the
last in the row. Her face flushed
slowly, and into her eyes there came a
deeper, clearer light; but she never
stirred. The football halted, and there
was a seconds wait.
Then came a rap, quick, sharp, de-
cisive.
The woman rose slowly, walked to
the door and unlocked it.
Come in," she said, gently, and the
man entered. d
He looked perturbed. He was a
tall, sunburnt man of about 35, with
massive shoulders and a great, gaunt
frame, indicating immense strength.
His head was peculiar; narrow at it's
base, it widened out above the ears,
attaining generous proportions. At
heart there seemed to be much that
was tender and graceful. This he had
done his best to hide under an affec-
tation that could only be called dis
agreeable. He rather liked the title
OF d~isagreeable man. He had a knack
of saying disagreeable things in a nice
way. This piqued women. And when
you excite women to the degree of
piquancy they become dangerous.
Women ran after David Strang. They
protested to abhor him-they secretly
adored him, and played their prettiest
tricks for his benefit. He remained
unmoved. He found it amusing.
The woman to whose Office he came
this hot July day had long ago
fathomed, or thought she fathomed,
his complex nature. She had certain
ly carefully hidden the clay feet of her
god, e%nveloping them in draperies of
purple and gold, and denying their ex-
istence to her w soul. But this was
after she had found the tender places
in his deep nature. At first she had
seen the clay feet; gradually her i'm
agination-which was royal-had COW
cred them, and a film had grown over
the eyes Of her soul, a silver film,
through which he loomed gracious and
tender. For a long time she had been
growing in upon herself. A great rest
1accpacc onnC,ypaad lnr T1an 5000 -
feeling abroad for sympathy. This
gathered around her work. For a time
she wrote brilliantly. pouring her soul
out in quaint imagery. All the hui
nan nature in her, and the spiritual,
cried aloud. Her work satisfied for a
time, but hers was a stormy soul, given
to recklessness and feeling the need of
a personal, a human love. There
should be the intellectual, the spiritual
and also the carnal, or rather the hui
man love. (Should the craving that
demands protection, caringness, close
ness, tenderness, be marred by a nam
SO suggestive of g%rossness as carnal?)
She used to envy the old ladies whom
she saw carefully cloaked and guarded
by their old husbands on steamboats,
or trains. They brought an atmos-
phere Of home with them. She had
had d mere glimpse Of home in her
childish days. Since, it had been a
forlorn sort Of life, drifting from one
lodgings to another; living in
trunks, making no friends, shrinking
from publicity. Home, Sweet Home"
always made her soul shed tears. So
did Christmas-time, and the barrel
organ when it played "Ta-ra-ra-boom-
decay" Her brother used to whistle
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