The leader., 1905-05-27
HIS FATAL
DELAY s 8
BY HAROLD oIzLsoN

IT HE poet, his fur-lined oyercoat
buttoned over his chest, boldly
faced the bitter wind that blew in from
the sea. Half of a dark-red sun was
hidden in the murk of winter sky:
the cold was intense, but Gerald was
filed with fine elation as he gazed
over the waste of gray water For
the moment he felt as monarch over
looking his kingdom; he was confident
of viking ancestors; he knew Christine
was watching him; he hoped his nose
was not red.
Christine had explained to him that
the car had been stopped on the cliff
in order that Mr.. Finducane might
crawl under it and hit it with a ham
mer. She added that it seemed to her
mean thing to do. But while Gerald
perfected an attitude she was urging
the mechanic to hit harder; the situa-
ton was exposed In spite, however,
of her encouragement and advice, it
was a considerable time before he
cheerful countenance of Mr.. Finducane
appeared, to announce that he
thought she'd do now" The de-
scendant of the vikings was glad to
tuck his legs under the wraps and find
the distance that separated him from
comfortable fire lessening.
Gerald, coming on a visit to the
Hartovers. had been met at the station
by the pride and hope of that family
$50 Christine described HERSELF and
her cousin, Bob Finducane. They had
whirled the unhappy poet, something
of a .hothouse plant. many miles over
a frozen country, in order, as they ex-
planned, that he might acquire an zap
petite for his dinner.
All the previous acquaintance he had
enjoyed with Christine had gone to
show him that she was the only wom-
an in the world whom he could rely
on to make him happy. 1t was his
great purpose to live surrounded by
objects of beauty; his fiat in town was
a feast for the eye. And Christine
dainty, graceful, laughing Christine
would be strictly in keeping with his
furniture.
After dinner Gerald succeeded in
isolating Christine and himself and
deep gloom settled on Bob Finducane
He could not understand how Chris
tine tolerated the fellow-"a miser-
able sort of chap" was Bob's opinion.
Christine is getting very friendly
with the celebrated poet" he re-
marked to Mr.. Hartover.
Eyes"
"He talked awful rot at dinner"
continued Bob, as if seeking the secret
of the poets charm. Said the fret
and hurry of the present day-I won
der if the car suggested it?-said it
was running society"
Society likes being ruined" said
Mr.. Hartover, cheerful1y.
For himself. he said. he liked soli-
tude and peace. A quiet cavern in
some distant hillside was-was his
ticket. l say, I>wfsh he'd got one"
It was on the third day, and in the
dusk of the afternoon, that Gerald and
Christine happened to be ,alone to-
gether in the drawing-room, watching
tuC hdAuo vi d SlCdC uA0 leap anu
flicker, casting so cheerful light into
the room that Christine had stoutly
opposed the designs of q servant who
had entered with matches.
For once Gerald had forgotten the
value of words-his words-and had
sat in silence for some time medita-
lively considering the teacup in his
hands. 1t was Christine who spoke
first.
81 believe we have both been
dreaming" she said.
Dreams are the wings that bear US
to the pleasant lands, to the castles
and fairy palaces" said the poet
Cor to your cave?" asked Christine.
mo; l was dreaming of beautiful
house, with bright flowers and old
trees round it: with the sunlight