The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1907-06-01
The EVENING STORY
A1Orton's Homecoming.
.(By Lester ComstockO

/ a lZ-StOrV
| fee building there now
Morton named another hotel, only
to be met with fresh disappointment,
and with an impatient gesture he sank
back in the cab. 81
Il want to go to a good HOTEL he
said. You know better than 1 where
I want to 60"
The burly figure climbed on the box
| and presently the cab was rafting up
Broadway. Listlessly Morton looked out
| of the cab window and marked the
changes. 1t was like a new land, with
only mere and there familiar land
| mark Six years had wrought changes
| as great as those that had been eff
fected within his heart.
| Six years before the world had SEEM
ed bright and pleasant. Lucy Des-
mond had loved him and his prospects
! mad begun to materialize. Then had
| come the crash. Howard Desmond had
sacrificed his daughter to save his for
| tune. Half a million We're needed to
support his tottering ventures. Met
calf would loan the money, but not I'M
til Lucy had become Mrs. Metcalf had
the loan been made. Ten days later
the vein had been struck in the mine
millionaire almost over night. For
weeks he had rallied against the fate
that broght him fortune too late to
give him the only thing worth while,
the companionship of the woman he
loved.
He had tried to meet her in their
social encounters with the Indifference
that convention demanded. but there
had come a night when the intoxica-
ton of the music, the heavy scent of
flowers had been upon them. 1t had
been in the conservatory at the Clivers'
dance and for one mad moment he had
held her in his arms begging her to
elope with him.
But even as he pleaded there had
come the sense of right. He had gen.
tly released her and had fled the place.
The dawn had found him still in his
evening clothes pacing the floor of his
apartment and as the fresh morning air
famed his flushed face he made his
resolution.
Before the end of the week he had dis
posed of all his American interests and
had gone abroad. He left no kin be-
hind and none knew where he had gone.
For six years he had roamed three con-
tinents but always off the path of the
tourist. Then had come the fierce long
ing for home and he had come back.
Now that he was here he was not GER
tain that he did not regret his decision.
All had changed, everything reminded
him that he had lost his place in the
life of the city. The stopping of the
carriage reused him and he paid his
driver and followed the bellboy into
the hotel.
He found the stiffness of his room in
tolerabIe and after vainly trying to IN
terest himself in the papers he threw
them aside and went for walk Per
hapS in the busy IhrOnS ne cOulQ snake
off his memories.
Unconsciously he turned his steps in
the direction of the park and was well
into the shady recesses before he realiz- |
ed where he was. Then he reused him |
self with a start. 1t had been Lucy's |
favorite walk. 1t led to little summer |
house just around the curve in the path |
the little summer house where they had |
spent such happy afternoons before |
Cupid had fled in utter rout before the /
Onslaughts of Mammon.
1t seemed perfectly natural that when |
he had turned the curve he should see !
her sitting there in the same place where
she had sat that afternoon when she
told him of Metcalf's ultimatum. He
smiled at himself for his belief. but the |
vision seemed so real that he kept on
and presently sank into the seat beside
her
+. The girl raised her head and smiled.
Lucy" he said wonderingly. as he
took the firm soft hand she offered.
us it really you, dear? OF course I
know it isn't. but you seem so real.
You have come to me hund reds of times
both waking and dreaming, but
never so plainly. dear"
"But suppose that I am not a vision,
Jim ?" she asked with smiling lips.
Suppose that it really should be II"
"Then should have to CO. he said
firmly. 81 can not trust myself with
you"
"Then let US pretend that I I'M a
vision she urged Il really ought 10
scold you for keeping yourself hidden
all these years.
ut was a towards retreat" he ad- ;
mitted. but 1 could not see YOU the
wife Of that man."
"And so you left me alone in my
she said reproachfully.
Morton shook his head. "It was not
that" he said soberly. 1T was that L ]
cared too much for your fair name to
stay on
II know" she said tenderIy. But
Jim. you might have left some word ,
we could have found you"
ITO bring me back to misery?''
cor happiness she said. You seem
20 have found misery where you
vent
She looked at the face of the man. II
Every line was touched by the hand l
# sorrow Six years before he had
been a laughing faced boy. She could +
'emember his every expression. Now T
lis face had gained seriousness that f
became it well. He had not sought
in dissipation and the
sirl was glad.
'I suppose that I do show it," he
aid, noting her glance. But you, be-
ng only vision, have not changed. /
Your eyes have gained a sweet serious f
less but otherwise 1t is the face that
las been before me all these years. c
Zou have come to me in many lands, n
ision here. that have never known L
'efore. I wish that I might always s
lold you so. dear"
welded to a vision % she asked >,
nockingly. would that content you ?" .
cit had to content me all these :
ears he said simply. cit is better
0 than that I should seek the reality "
D rob her of her fair name" 3
"And yet, that night" she whisper
d. 'I was almost ready to say yes it
i'm. Had you persevered I should c.
ave yielded"
ST knew it." he agreed, land for Il
hat reason I went away so far that a.
o word might reach me and tempt Of
le hack to Your side. Since I left q