Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1909-09-24
BY Stuart B. Stone

The Poet wore long. reddish. lon-mane mar:
which he would not have combed for field OF
cloth OF gold. His eyes were the slate or ne
sky when the rain Falls, and they looked al
ways and everlastingly miles and miles past yon.
One could stand up close and see the very
dreams in them. He was dreadfully absent
minded and often walked down TO his work at
the gas house with his gray SLOUGH hat wrong
side before.
Tie Pedagog parted her straight black hair
in the middle and talked unraIilngly through her
nose She wore extremely thick spectacles. and
for all the fashion magazines and for all the
silk and-satin show windows. she would never
know how to dress. Which. as everyone knows,
is the one objectionable sin for the woman.
They used to sit for hours and hours without
talking. The Poet would hold the PedagOg
cold, blocdless hand In his slim. tapering one,
and II they did choose TO talk, 1t was Of tran
scendentalism or the Odyssey. The conversation
would not have been Ineligible to you or TO
me- But the Poet and the Pedngog called 1t
Soul-converse and were very, very happy.
The wedding a quiet affair. 1t was per-
formed by a priest OF some mystic, long named
cult. and the Poet bought straw hat for the
occasion Aftcrward he bit off half the brim ia
nbsent-minded perturbation. The Pedagog wore
a combination. Of green and gray, very much Ike
the ladies III the l3-cent chromos you may nuy
reduced on Fridays. Nevertheless they babbled
OF affinity and the stars and were-oh, so tre-
mendously happy!
Finally, with things in apple-pie order. the
Pedagog prepared their first warm meal. and the
Poet. with a sigh of dreamy comfort, sat down
10 partake thereof.
The Poet shifted his hlgh-bred nose. There
is something burning. love-" he warned.
The LADY investigated and reported nothing
ablaze. The Poet picked up a dumping thing
and sniffed again. "Ah. my earth-divinity," lie
sighed. ut is the strange new food you have
The Pedagog arcbed her classic brow. Don't
test. Bartholomew. You know well it is bis
cult"
The Poet tapped the lemon-tinted thing. II
gave off a sound like oaken planking. IBIS
cut!" he cried. My mother did not make them
sou
The Pedagog frowned ominously. The Poet
shifted again. then STROBE to the window ami
admitted a gust of icy afr. He Was very deli
c?te and very irascitle. 81 die"' he cried. MY
ethereal soul revolts at the saffron, rock-like
mess! rebel" -,, ~.
hammered shadow % a man. You bunch OF
nerves and temperament! YOU
The Poet turned in shrill rage. IF these are
biscuits. take them-eat tnem-disintect t4emi
and hurled them in ungovernaole passion at the
Pcdagog. The Pedagog, with shriH tauntIne'
hurled them back The air was filled Win II!
ing biscuits Candlestcks, gas nantes. vases OF
old Austria fell to the floor and smashed. d
particularly heavy. soggy dumping biscuit
struck a bronze Cupid. which tumbled. mo
figure raised 1ust four drops or bright rcd
blood as IL whizzed past the lady's temple
II Diet she cried. II die martyr to poetic
tcmperamental infrmities!" She closed her eyes
and would have toppled to the floor had not the
poet biscuit in hand rushed Forward do,.+ dc
Eugenia! I've called you earth-divinity. star
being love-gOddess-and deramed that anythlhs
YOU touched would turn ambrosia-and was
wrong You are lust the sweetest little woman
the PedagoG opened her blue eyes. And you
are not a soul-mate, but just man." she sighed
happily. Just plain AWKWARD hot-neaoeu'
dear, sweet man. -.
arousing, he gathered the 1S saffron biscuits
and ate them every one