Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1904-11-25
THE THINGS
THATARE ~
Copyright. 1904, by Daily Story Pub. Col
By r. H. LANCASTER

wi asked Daisy for a title and when
she pointed silently to the last lines of
Lewis Highway" he snapped on his
glasses, frowning slightly as he read:
But be our haven near or far we put
our trust in things that are"
THE things that are" she repeated,
significantly.
You have been thinking it over! To
be a deep thing or whimsical"
Rather deep-earnest, at any rate"
ITO pivot or a man or a woman?"
woman. But you had better pivot it
on a man, for you don't know a thing
in the world about women"
Nothing; except hat there is no
telling from what point of view a woman
will approach an issue"
The things that are, are hard on a
woman" he muttered, thoughtfully.
But a man has greater reverence for
them"
Madison studied the poem, by his
expression neither accepting nor reject
ing her assertion. He looked tired-and
he was. But, Indian like, had taken up
this additional task to convince his flag
ging energies that they were not so near
ly spent as they seemed to be. Had
taken it up and carried it across the hall
to Daisy Dunbar's den. Being wont to
come to her because she had enough
common sense to take a 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 a very present help in a rush. Pres
ont1y ha cuD1y hic 1nan ia NC into his lpan
palms and said, still staring at the poem
spread out before him: 81 need not only
a title, but a 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 beauti-
fully striking than this?" And slowly
she read the lines upside down:
60, pipe your song and dream your
dream,
And feed your SOU 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."
"How?"
| "In its pathetic perversity isn't it the
l overheard cry of the human bearing
; witness to the w%ell-night futility of
Heavens best planned pleasures for
: man? If you pivot your story on a man
. strike out in a few Of your strong
, strokes a hero gifted beyond the ken Of
t most men, and throw across his path the
unusual woman-the woman who can
l 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
3 the gloom of it the fitful flares of a mans
Unborn horror Of ridicule, his abject
5 terror Of doing the unusual; and sink
him at last to the sullen commonplace
1 " tlc tdLSlDlC. 4hdlly Aiul W LIZ WluOW
$ 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,
n the editors instructions: You will I'M
derstand that we want something with a
t touch of to-day in it: natural and real"
There is no touch of to-day in what
I you have been saying" he grumbled.
, Nothing natural, nothing real"
And instead of being exasperated by
q his d%isgruntled ingratitude, Daisy only
e replied in a tone of thoughtful convic-
ton:
well, yes, there are several touches -
and lay back in her chair contentedly
studying the contrasting shades of the
y blue blotter on the green baise while
Madison sulked because the subtle
n analogies of her s~harpened perception
were but as blurs to his tagged out
faculties.
l. "You have been plotting thet thing to
pivot Oh 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
o woman he loved n let the widow and
her proper mourning go to the bow
n vows. 1t is only the weak that feaI
y criticism"
n Most men are weak" Daisy muir
+ INJURED, abstractedly. With a scarcely
perceptible movement she turned on 1
tiny gas jet at her elbow, lit a cigarette
v turned off the flame, and fell to smok.
le ing a quiet continuity of cigarettes tina
IS betokened abstraction, certainly, but il
10 no wise limited at impotence, disap
l. pointment or disdain. Her poise pro
~ voked Madison. There was enough
Adam in him to resent apparent com