, 1907-07-01
PERIODICAL

BY ROBERT c. BROWN.

Homer Parker had never had an
affaire de occur and the most singular
thing about 1t was hat Homer was
80 years old.
of a joke to him. He had never
looked the question fairly in the face
and he laughed at the possibility OF
ever doing so.
Love is a sort of periodical mad
ness" he used to argue to himself.
They all get over it after a year or
two and then they look sourly at the
minister who was responsible for ty
ing them up, or down, to love"
In other words, Parker was a cynic.
He scoffed at love, made light of it,
and boosted his impenetrability.
He was welded to his art, and his
art was music. There could eve
have been a better match, for Parker
loved his music as himself.
One day the bachelor went to the
phone to call up a friend. The line
was busy, he listened a moment.
Then he listened a little longer.
A sweet, mellow, musical voice
loated over the wire. He had
before heard the like. The beauty,
The fullness of that voice held him to
the instrument.
Surely" he thought, "the woman
who possesses that voice must be diff.
ierent." And then he listened some
more--the sweet voice thrilled him,
flled him, and he could not get 1t out
Of his mind the whole day.
That night he patiently held the
receiver to his ear for half an hour,
hoping ever that the same voice
would call again.
But his efforts were unrewarded
and he went to bed, his brain pulsat-
ing with the discovery and his mind
seeking for the owner of that voice.
The next morning he listened at
the phone and again he heard the
same tones. He stood %entranced and
listened. There was no other voice
on earth like it, to Parker.
An all consuming desire came over
him as he hung up the receiver. He
determined to seek out and find that
voice.
A small suspicion Of love came into
his mind. but he laughed 1t aside in
his hurry to assure himself that 1t
was solely in the interests of music
that he wished to find the owner OF
that voice.
Hurriedly putting on his hat and
coat he rushed to the telephone office.
There he found the names and ad.
dresses of the three parties on his
line and then he returned home eager.
ly. They were all on his street; that
voice lived within a block of him
and yet he did not know its owner.
The thought m%addened him, he
brooded owe it, rushed to the phone
in hope of again hearing it-but the
line vas silent.
Suddenly an idea anne to him. Fe
would call up each Of the houses on
that line and then he could easily
locate the voice.
Hts first attempt was unsuccessful;
he excused himself by saying that he
had gotten the wrong number.
Then he called up the next on his
list. A sudden thrill shot through
him as he heard the soft Hello and
realized that it was addressed to him.
He said nothing, he had found 1t. and,
accordingly, he quietly hung up the
receiver with a happy sigh.
Miss Cornelia CORTLAND" he read
from his list. well, that's funny,
she can't live there alone, can she?
But it relieves my mind on one score,
anyway. She is not married"
Again putting on his hat and coat
he went out into the street and saun.
tered past the house which contained
that voice. Then he went into a
corner store and waited.
Finally a woman came from the
house. His eyes fairly devoured her
as she came up the street. Her dress
was smart, there was nc jarring of
colors in what she wore, there was
an artistic air about her hat was ap-
pealing. To Parker she was divine.
He stood awkwardly looking into
D. showcase when she entered the
store.
Good morning, Mrs. Kendall, how
IS your aunt, Miss CORTLAND, today"
inquired the affable proprietor of the
Somewhat better, thank you"
that divine voice, which
recognized in a moment.
His head swan, his fingers grew
cold. With a compressed feeling
about his chest he strobe u into the
open air.
Madly he rushed to his room,
packed up his belongings, and moved
far away from that telephone line.
A month later he sighed, as he sat
before his bachelor fire, musing to
himself: Love is a sort of periodical
madness, they all get over it in a
year or two. By George! l hope / do"
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