The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-08-20

Gle. You need to be born again"
The hottest morning Saint Pierre had
known for years The porteuses were
gone from the highways. Rue Victor Hugo.
the principal thoroughfare, was deserted
at ten in the morning Shop doors were
closed, the street vendors silent Vol
canic ash lay in all the crevices, and min
gled with the turf. Behind the shut
doors children walled. The tough little
mules, some in their panniers and with
no one to lead them, Rugged the east
walls for shade. From the byways came
family the smell of death. In the Offices
of Les Colonies Constable found a breath
of GOODNESS, for the outer air was admit
ted as little as possible. VI. Mondet well
coined the caller. Constable explained
his purpose, proffered card, and apollo
gized for his French.
NJ Mondet was tubby little man. His
hands were white, soft, tapering. ringed.
If you saw them alone, you would
promptly uncover, as is customary in the
proximity of a woman. NJ. Mondet did
not forget his hands.
"Pelee has bad look. monsieur" Con-
stable began. Il believe you could clear
the city of ten thousand people If you
printed a vigorous warning against the
mountain: if you ordered the natives to
take no chances, but to flee, regardless of
their coats, chickens, Goals. coins, or their
next city fathers. To be instrumental in
saving the lives of ten thousand people
is not a service given to all men, mon
sieur."
Constable spoke slowly, and was anger
ed by the reply of the editor:
But, my dear NJ. Constable, there Ia
no danger-no danger, l assure you J"
"Sir, this is tragedy-black, rumbling.
naked tragedy! / say there is need for a
giant here, who would paint the possibili-
ties of that monster in living fire. A man
might die in the foulest gutter, cursed by
the demons of drink and disease, but with
chant on his lips and vine leaves in
his hair il the memory of such service
as may be yours were with him at the
last 20
The French editor found himself look
ing into a lean, tanned face that flushed
and paled in turn. Moreover, he was
uneasy ON account of q pair of lean.
tanned hands which lay lightly and rest
lessly upon the knees of the man before
him. These hands seemed to be the po-
tent embodiments of hate and swiftness.
The manner of their low leaping created
the impression that their leashes were in
secure. and the immaculate cravat of NJ
Mondet felt tight upon his throbbing
throat.
Perhaps it is well that you called"
ha ooid with hoofa laadipo ont HE oo1lo-
with the delicacy bred of the fear of
dynamite.
Constable left, unsatisfed. The clock
in the Hospital PMilitaire struck the
hour of eleven. Constable slowly made
his way to the water front and back to
the Sugar Landing. His launch was still
waiting there at the stone pier. He had
sent out word to Captain Negley for
steam to be kept up night and day. A
small crowd was gathering on the shore.
slightly to the north Of the Sugar Land
ing. Constable hurrIe~. thither. A black
woman had fallen, from the sun. Her
burdens lay together on the burning sand
"a tray of cakes from her head, a naked
babe from her arms. Constable had the
stricken creature placed in the launch and
taken out to his ship for care. sending a
native doctor after her. The negroes
regarded him with curious adulation. The
water front would know him when lie
came again.
"Oh, l say, friends of mine." he an
nounced in French, IF any of you have
sick wives or little ones, send them out
to the ship yonder, and they will be cared
for. No, it is not hospital, where fees
are charged-just a temporary refuge
from the heat for the women and little
ones. Tell your neighbors. Here is money
to hire boats. i can crowd two hundred
babes and mothers on board"
The thought of breath of GOODNESS
turned his steps to Pere Rabeaut's little
stone shop in the Rue de Rivoli. Light
headed from the heat. and the root Of
each hair prickling its individual warn
ing, he assembled the terraces and sank
down in the darkness at last, in his old
seat under the round window. The shop
was quite deserted. Moments passed, as
he famed himself with his limp straw
hat. A large piece of cardboard lay upon
the table. He turned it over idly. A pen
Gil sketch adorned the side which had
lain against the wood. The realization
was instantaneous that no common hand
had wrought this work.
The figure was that of a grown girl
Soronia-and the attitude of expectancy
brought out queerly the graceful and ar
dent lines of her figure. A wreath of
blossoms was entwined in her hair, and
an old French urn hung from her hand.
The sketch seemed to be series of happy
after-thoughts, with not line too much.
As he studied it, with interest and Curl
osity, Constable became conscious Of low
voices in the court behind. He arose,
with no idea of stealth. and stepped to
the rear door.
Soronia and Hayden Breen were stand
ing close together in the denser shade at
the far end Of the court. The song birds
were stilled in the torrid noon. The
girls profile, bewitching thing wrought
of animated gold, was upturned to the
eyes of Breen, and she was listening with
soulful intent. Shy Soronia, mistress Of
the shadows, was called from her hiding
place at last to hearken unto the whis-
perings of an American. Her heart SEEM
ed to wait upon his words.
A smile crept over the face of the
watcher. His feelings were strange in
deed. There was a nobility In the figure
of Breen, standing there among the huge
banana leaves! The watcher withdrew.
The sketch upon the table reminded him
that Soronia had revived the art. long
buried. Perhaps the vivid maiden had
revived as well the lost youth Of the
rld-jaded one. Constable departed.
The sky had become overcast. Pelee's
cone was not visible from the streets. A
sharp defamation cleaved the darkening
air, and from the shut houses the answer
issued, an answer partly stifed, but vib-
rant with fright-the quavering cries OF
age and childhood, sharp, low screams
from the mothers, the sullen undertone OF
men, A subdued drumming came from
the north now, completing the tossing
Currents of sound in the streets. All this
was rubbed out instantaneously by a Sc
ries of thunder crashes. A deluge of ash
complicated the shroud OF monday, and
the curse of sulphur pressed down. The
hiohwavs filed magically with CRYING