Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-05-28

: tremulous with rapture what tempera-
| menti' she gasped.
| He was quite PROSTATE after his out
| burst. So were We. He came over to
our table and apologized for being silent
| The urge of song is a nasterful thing he
| says. and leaves a man limp"
| Bobby grunted discourteously
| I DONE Ike your being in IT," he said
| with a certain decisive set of his law
| But I've come back to the fold. Bobby
! l wandered after strange gods. but now I
| dwell In the tents of the Pnistines where
| the conversation wears rubbers, and the
! people only do dsreputable things They
| draw the line At singing about them
There was another poet at that table
| d hote. He recited. too but he wasn't
/ lurid. His wife said his poetry had wan.
I moonlike mystery. He told me that he
| and few others had found the secret
| Bless you. / don't know what secret
! MaI.arme was nearer than l.. he said
! humbly. Your true great man is always
| modest. Bobby. But his wife smiled and
| shook her head. 1t was all very well for
| him TO be modest. but she knew his worth
| she begged the problem novelist to help
| wrap her poet up. They tucked a muller
| around him. and put him into a cape that
| made him look like anaemic brigand
! hou can know what responsibility il is
| to have the care of such n soul she said
| to me IN italics. Then she took him home
| Well at any rate, they were married I
| thought that was out OF fashion in
| Bohemia"
/ -
| of them are married, but they are dread
! FULLY ashamed of it, especially II they are
| happily married. It isn't so bad If th..
| marriage is tragedy or has spoiled a lif,,
! or there are some other extenuating cir
| cumstances. There usually are. The poet
| and the lady who has the responsibility of
| caring for such a soul assure every one
| that they married under protest. They
| thought 1t degradation of soul union but
/ the poets publishers would have it. They
| Sald IL was hard enough, at best, TO float
ms books, ana the American people
| wouldn't stand for an American poet who
| personally and openly outraged deorncy"
| lhey do these things better in France
| i dld meet some Bohemian couples who
| took a pose of transcendent matrimonial
| bliss, something sort of subliminal ana uu-
| earthly. We went to studio sdoper one
| night, and the wife stopped US in the vesti-
| bule. She drew the curtains behind her
and put her finger on her lips. She didn't
| say Hist" but she looked it, 1t chilled
| our blood. We were on the verge of a
| stampede when she whispered:
t Hush! He is speaking OF his art
| We husheu
| Wasn't it loyely?''
Wasn't there any salt in Bohemia.
| Nancy"
Lots of it. Frank. jolly young fellows
| who We're poor as church mice but pegging
| away cheerfully at magazine stories and H.
| iustration and that sort of thing. They
| were usually married and proud of it: and
| they talked shop. but they didn't believe
| they Were the cream Of literature and art
/ But they aren't real Bohemlans. They don't
assume the pose. They only eat the cheap
dinners"
Wait till they arrive" prophesied Bobby,
| darkly.
IF they arrive. they'll shake the dust of
| Bohemia from their feet and If they don't
arrive, they wont think they have arrived
| l like them. They have a sense of hunlor
| That's why they don't pose as Bohemians
| Your Bohemian. called hasn't really a
I sense of humor. If he were presented with
| one 1t would be another case of T-ntiu.
and a soul. He'd flicker and go out at
| once
| wandering minstrel"
! ''Oh. yes. the poet. He lasted four weeks.
! ] went out to dinner with him often and
| We met in the park-I thought you never
| squirmed. Bobby
! 1T was a trihe hard to get away from
| AIRY and Arriet in the afternoon but a
| glimpse of primitive methods only accent
! dated the charm of esoteric Irritation.
| ''Oh, Bobby, Bobby. why don't you talk
| to me about star-cool chances and shadow
| girdled brows and stirring ghosts of dead
| dreams?"
Rot exclaimed Bobby
| Did you ever notice an aureole woven
| hower-lke, in my har?''
Bobby eyed the fluffy hair anxiously
| m afraid you aren't observing, Bobby
| That aureole has been seen
| What became of him?
| He went away
One summer day,
Nancy chanted. 1T was in August Thar
was the only graceful Bohemian thing to
| do. He couldn't go on, because he was u
! tribe afraid of me- and he wouldn't 20
back, and there was no fun in standing
still. AS il was he had just time to show
| what he could do in the way of reyerential
| lovemaking, and then there was a golden
| opportunity for parting and despair and
| dumb resignation. | knew the resignation
| was dumb. for he told me all about it.
Il was left with the twenty-six sonnets
| and a sweet memory. The sonnets are to
| be published in February. so his time
wasn't wasted. and l needn't reproach my
self. Yet they say there is no thrift in
| Bohemia.
Il asked one of my nice boys why the
poet fled He said the old chap had gone
up to Harvard to his oldest son. and
after that was going to Indiana to stay
with his wife and family until his creditors
! got discouraged and quieted down.
Then the artist-but that's another
story; and weren't we going out to tea?"
Bobby rose from the couch. rammed his
hands In his pockets. and stood staring
out of the window while Nancy put on her
hat and veil.
Your mother oughtn't TO allow it, he
said, turning around and speaking very
slowly and distinctly. Yes. you may
| laugh. but you ought to show some discre-
| ton in your whins. That sort of thing
| isn't wholesome. 1t isn't your sort. tell
you don't Ike it."
Nancy mover toward him. He fancied
she angry, for her face was Serious;
but he stood his ground
Il don't like it, he repeated deflantly.
Nancy stood quite close to him.
''I'll tell you a secret, she said very
softly. Neither did l." Then she added
inconsequently, 'Oh. you nice, clean. SEN
sible ordinary man.
There was queer little note in her
voice.
Bobby gave the beggar at the corner
dollar.
THE WAY OF A WOMAN.