The Press., 1910-12-14

The girl shook her head sadly. 'T am sorry, Graham, but am afraid that, too, is over. suppose"-and a humorous twinkle came back in her eyes-"marriag with you would even make Aunt Cornelia feel that there was some possible hope for me. But I am not going to marry yet. l don't feel that I should. am going to work out this idea. If 1t fails, why, I sup- pose 1 will come back, eat humble pie and accept the husband who will be picked for me." .f
 You know you picked me yourself" said the young man, just q trihe an- grily.
 We are both very young yet" she said By this time the exodus from the train to the ferry kept them busy with the exchange of salutation and conv versation that marked the Monday morning entrance into New York
 ''Then it is quite true you are going on the stage, Miss Fullerton3" asked one of Graham's friends who Joined them.
 Quite true. You will come and see me, won't youT
 q will buy a row." cried the young man, "and we will have supper after ward"
 "Will weT asked Miss Fullerton. And that is the way, is it, that the gilded butterflies in New York Invite the ladies of the stage to supper2" The young man looked blank.
 
 Fullerton, feeling sure that she would drive home her point, 'the invitation becomes a command, with due condo scension."
 They were climbing into a taxicab at the Thirty-fourth street side of the ferry when Graham made his final plea.
 Doesn't that show you, Dora, how impossible the whole thing is3 Jack sons a nice fellow. He never would have thought of asking you to go to supper with him in that way if it were not for the fact that you are going on the stage. The moment you do, 1t you lose everything-.your friends"
 "You don't lose any friends" re- sponded Dora, "that you would not be much better off without, and you don't lose your self respect fin any honest work"
 It was the same argument all the way up tU UiIv lnooSoL al sorCy-G0UAtu street.-the more or less piteous plea for another appointment to talk the matter over, while she kept steadfast- ly to her resolution not to let his ob- stinacy wear her down.
 There was a little fiutter of the heart as she stepped to the stage door, for she was entering into a new world-a wonder world.
 Graham still tagged along up to the very steps. As she held out her hand to say goodby to him man who was about to enter the theater bowed to him and said, MT. Graham, believe" Graham looked at him, a little pug zled.
 "Holcomb is my name," said the young man in a very pleasant voice and with an enunciation that carried weight in itself; we've met at the Players club"
 "Oh, yes," said Graham, CT remem- Der very well. You are a friend of Jim Hale. Are you playing with this com panyw
 eve begin rehearsals today" said Holcomb.
 "Well, that's luck, by gadr said Graham. Miss Fullerton, may I in. troduce Mt. Holcomb9" A few oth- CT deft, clever phrases, for young Win. throp was not without mentality, and he asked Holcomb to give Dora the benefit of his knowledge and experi. ence.
 q have not had much experience" said Mir Holcomb, "as I have only been on the stage two years. What ever I have had, however, shall be most decidedly at her service, and will begin now. We have three min utes to get on the stage and be ready for the 10 o'clock call, and 1t will be call in double sense if we are late, believe me. will see you again." he said and bowed to Graham. They disappeared into the dark alley of the theater, and the disconsolate young lover, beating vigorously with his cane at the stoop railings and ash cans along the street. with hat pulled down over his eyes, walked straight to the nearest cafe.
 
 Graham Winthrop and Willard Hol- comb were young men of characters that widely diverged. Winthrop's fam fly, long of great wealth, guaranteed him a position in the social world which was unquestionably secure and impressive to those numerous ambi- tious personages who aim and yearn to achieve an entry into fashions ex- elusive world. But Holcomb. whose gentlemanly qualities were no less de- veloped than those of Winthrop, was dependent on his own resources and capabilities for his rise or fall. His progenitors had left him a good name; that was all. His fate was in his own hands. His ambitious nature, long de- nied the opportunities it craved be- cause of his moderate circumstances, financially speaking, would not permit him to rest passively and watch events occur. Society, in the sense of fash ionable preference, meant little to him, except as a phase of life affording a subject for study and for analysis. Its evanescent diversions, so cherished by Graham Winthrop, required what seemed to Holcomb prodigate waste of time and energy. He had work to do. It was a mans work in a world of men, and Willard Holcomb thrilled with the desire to show his worth as a man in the affairs of men.
 But he must have his opportunity to make his start. Probably he would earn or win this opportunity himself. Perhaps chance would work in his fa- vor. The most important affairs of life are frequently decided by the mys- terious evolutions of what men call