The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1905-12-08
Opportunity's
Bald Head
By MARGARET RICHARDS
Copyright. 1905. by K. A. Whitehead

With weary little sigh Margaret
Huston pushed aside the closely writ
ten pages. 1t was no use. The story
would not go.
For six months now she had written
stories-clever, harmless little things
which her friends easily could have
forgiven her had she not insisted upon
regarding them all as Legitimate ma
terial." She moved in a world Of fic-
ton; she revealed in situations; incipi-
ent plots ran riot in her brain.
But today as she pushed back her
chair and walked with graceful, i'm
patient movement to the open window,
she found no solution to her problem.
The story was at a standstill. Up to
this point 1t had progressed smoothly
enough After a series of vicisSitudeS
Of the kind peculiar to young authors
the hero had boarded an eastern bound
express at San Francisco. The heroine,
a victim of diverse and equally salts
flying misfortunes, had unwittingly
taken this same express at Denver.
What the result would be was obvious,
but it was right here that the hero
failed to rise to the occasion with his
customary alacrity.
ut all sounds so out of place, some
how, on train,' murmured the fair
author, wrinkling her pretty forehead
perpleXedly. HE could not act in the
usual way" she continued reminiscent
ly, as various pictures of moonlit
porches and palm sheltered corners
fitted across her memory. at is a
situation that would have to work it
self out" A sudden thought stained
the white skin scarlet. "Oh, no,
never could do that" she whispered,
while the soft breeze famed her hot
checks. "But it would only be in the
interest of art" inslnuated the tempter.
Artists must sacrifice themselves to
their work" And John Sherwood's
doom was sealed.
Short, sharp puffs of escaping steam,
jolt, faint vibration, and the New
York train steamed slowly out Of Ards
ley-on-Hudson.
All unaware that he was but pawn
in his fair lady's game, John Sherwood
leaned forward in his seat and regard
ed her with wondering, delighted eyes.
This sudden graciousness, this unex-
plainable nervousness, the flushed half
averted face, bore but one interpreta-
ton to his eager lovers heart. She was
inexpressibly dear to him, this slender,
capricious maiden; how dear he had
never before quite dared to say, but
now
They had found seats on the river
side. The setting sun shot quivering
crimson shaft across the water and
crowned the opposite mountains with
soft golden light. She made mental
note of the yellow splendor. OF course
there was no river in her story, but
sunset glory would be n fitting back
ground for her hero's imprisoned APP
peal.
John leaned toward her. Margaret
he said impulslvely, ibid you ever hear
why Opportunity is supposed to have
a bald head?"
She turned her head with resentful
little gesture. He was beginning bad
ly. No bald head, even that OF Oppor-
tunity, had a place in her picture of
youth and shifting golden lights and
passionate appeal; then, remembering
her role of heroine, she nodded with
forced little smile.
With a faint, grinding protest the
train stopped at Dobbs Ferry. A girl
with two small children in tow entered
the car; behind her trailed a woman
in somber widows weeds. Margaret
rejected the children as being too
sticky, but the sunset, the widows
garb Of woe in sharp contrast to the
hero's impassioned declaration
Because Opportunities head is
bald went on Johns logged voice,
mo one can grab him from behind
after be has passed, you know-but in
front his hair is long,
"Ohw she.cried family. 'Would no
never have done with that headi" All