The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1907-09-17
HIS MAGNUM OPUS.
By LULU JOHNSON.

haps the curtain might be drawn aside
Some old friend from the East might
seek him out and Unwitungly beiray his
secret TO the girl. and she would read
with horror the story Of her mothers fall
painted in words Of bitterness such as
only wounded pride and dead love can
conjure She would see her mother
soul In all its nakedness. and his would
be the hand that had thrown aside the
garments Of time and charity.
Are YOU sleepy. daddy?" Poindexter
reused himself
Not a bit, - he declared. What makes
YOU think that, daughter"
You are so still" she explained. 'and
you don't talk"
'Daddy's a little tired, he explained.
Shall I tell you a goodnight story
The child nodded her head contentedlv.
and PoindeXter began fantastic tale
be had a fertile fancy. and these good
night stories were glorious moments in
the child's life. There were times when
she stole softly about the house lest she
interrupt his writing. but when bedtime
came and she lay curled up in his Ian
while his rich voice reCited weird tales
of giants and fairies and dragons. she
had him for her very own and was con-
tent with the sacrifice.
As they neared the climax his voice
grew soft. and when at last the end
came he waited for the usual applause
of That was lovely. daddy" Instead
soft lips brushed his cheek and the
tired child sank off TO sleep
TendeTly he bore her 10 her bed and
tucked her in as gently as woman
might have done Reverently he pressed
his lips against the rosy mouth and tip
toed from the room.
The library seemed cold and cherries
when he returned. The childs visit had
but emphasized his Loneliness. and he
sat blankly at the table on which lay
the package with its address but half
completed.
He swung his chair about that he might
not see 1t, but though he had turned
his back UPON it, the script stiu danced
before his mental vision. He could still
see the uncompleted tail of the ~" he
had been writing when Elsie had come
in, and the ink blotch in the corner
where the pen had rolled against il. 4
dozen times he half turned TO complete
the address, and as often .here came 10
his memory the words OF his daughter.
Some day she would read the book
with clear vision, and perhaps she
would understand. There is always some
one to disilusiOn with awkward speech.
Perhaps she might never know how true
to life the story was. Then again some
chance remark might bear in upon her
the truth
Agnes, by her action. had forfeited all
right 10 his forbearance. but there was
still his duty toward his child It seemed
iflra 70 Il,
and yet
He went over every incident of his life
since his marriage She had married
him, ambitious for his future. and he.
utterly content, had been happy IN his
moderate success save for those moments
when her urgings spurred his ambition.
One purpose in writing this very book
was to show her. when it was too late.
that he could accomplish those successes
for which she had longed: that he could
write as brilliantly as the man for whom
she had left him.
The cast glowed with the first blush OF
the dawn when at last he rose from the
chair and threw aside the curtains TO
let in the morning light and the fresh
air
Slowly he crossed the room to the
empty fireplace and laid the package in
the CRATE A tiny tongue Of fame crept
along the wrapper. biting deeper as it
grew. At last only the blackened sheets
remained and he turned away.
For Elsie's sake" he whispered. and
added. with a sigh. "and for Agnes. too
God pity her" His magnum opus was
found not in accomplishment, but in re-
nunciation.
Copyright. 1907. BY H. n. Cunningham