The San Francisco call., 1904-07-17

He moved toward the door.
How'll 1 know you won't tell her
when I'm gomez" he growled.
Merely by my saying that I won't"
l answered curtly. You're in no po-
sition to dictate terms; am
But / could, without leaving the
phone. latch the chain on the door be-
hind him, leaving 1t half open. So he
must have heard the rest.
Yes, Mrs. Ramsay, waiting?"
croaked like the driest kind of hello
girl. Il was mistaken. 1t was a mes
sage left to be delivered to you-not
some one wanting to speak with you
Who am I? Why, this is Central. Here
is the message: VIII be with you in
half an hour Signed Edward.
Yes. that's right. Thank you. Good
night
1 hung up, gave the door
touch that shut it in his face
and went back into the dining-room to
throw open the windows The place
smelled of alcohol; the moral atmos-
phere left behind by that bad old man
sickened me.
[ leaned out and looked at the stars
and tried to think of something sweet
"Ah, Nance" I cried - myself with
sob-I had pretended to take it lightly
enough when he was here, but now
IF you had heard of a girl who, like
yourself this evening, unexpectedly
met two men she had known, and the
good man ignored her and the bad one
followed her-oh, Nancy-what sort of
girl would you think she was at heart?
What sort of hope could you imagine
her treasuring for her own future? And
what sort of significance would you at
tach to"
And just then the bell rang again.
This time I was sure ii was you And,
oh, Maggie, ran to the door eager
for the touch of your hand and the look
in your eyes. l was afraid to be alone
with my own thoughts. 1 was afraid
of the conclusion to which they were
leading me. Maggie, if ever a girl need
ed comfort and encouragement and
heartening. l did then.
And / got it, dear
For there was a man at the door,
with a great basket of azaleas-pale,
pink earth-stars they are. the sweet,
innocent things-and a letter for me.
Here it is. Let me read it to you.
My Dear Miss Omar-Once upon a
time there was a Luckless Pot, marred
in the making. that had the luck to be
of service to Pipkin.
1T was a saucy Pipkin, though a
very winning one, and it had all the
health and strength the poor Pot lacked
physically. Morally = morally, that
young Pipkin was in a most unwhole-
some condition Already its fair.
smooth surface was scratched and
fouled. 1t was unmindful of the treas
ure of good it contained, and its re-
sponsibility to keep that good intact.
And it seemed destined to crash itself
to pieces among pots of baser metal
What the Luckless Pot did was lit
tle-being ignorant of the art by which
diamonds may be attained easily and
honestly-but it gave the little Pipkin
a chance.
What the Pipkin did with that
chance the Pot learned tonight.
with such pleasure and satisfac-
ton as made it impossible for him not
to share it with her. So while he sent
Burnett cut to the conservatory to cut
azaleas, he wrote her a note to try to
convey to her what he felt when, in
that nicely polished. neatly decorated
and self-respecting vessel on exhibition
in Mrs Gates red room, he recognized
the poor little Pipkin of other days.
THE Pot, as you know, was a sort Of
stranded bit of clay that had never
filed the use for which pots are Gre
ated. He had little human to interest
him. The fate of the Pipkin, therefore,
he had often Dondered on, and in spite
of improbabilities had had faith in a
certain quality of brave sincerity the
little thing showed-a quality that
shone through acquired faults like a
star in q murxy sky.
This justification of his faith in the
Pipkin may seem a small matter to
make so much of. And yet the Pot
that sleeps not we'll o nights. as is the
case with damaged pots-wilI take to
bed with him tonight a pretty, pleas
ant thought. due just to this.
But do not think the Pot an idealist,
If he were he might have been tempted
to mistake the Pipkin for q statelier,
more pretentious Vessel-a Vase, say,
all graceful curves and embossed sides,
but shallow, perhaps, possibly lacking
breadth. No, the Pipkin is a pipkin,
made of common clay-even though it
has the uncommon sweetness and
strength to overcome the tendencies of
clay-and fashioned for those common
uses of life, deprivation of which to
anything that comes from the Potter's
hands is the most enduring, the most
uncommon sorrow.
"Oh, pretty little Pipkin, thank the
Potter. who made you as you are, as
you will be-a thing that can cheer and
stay mems souls by ministering to the
human needs of them. For you, be
sure. the Potter's a good fellow and
twill all be Well
For the Pot-he sails shortly, or
rather he is to be carted abroad by
some optimistic friends whose hopes he
does not share-to a celebrated repair
shop for damaged pots. Whether he
shall return patched and mended into
temporary semblance of a useful Yes
sci; whether he shall continue to be
merely the same old Luckless Pot, or