Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-12-27

ner in the gunroonn. but I thought this
merely a turn OF her hu,nor: and I was
taken aback when she led the way into Q
low. heavily raftered room. where cleo
trio sconces of ali odd type we're thrust
at irregular intervals along the walls,
which were otherwise hung with arms OF
many sorts in orderly combinations. They
were not the litter of antique shops I saw
in nasty glance. but rifles and guns OF
the latest patterns. and beside the side
board stood a gun rack and cabinet
which l assumed contained still other
and perhaps deadlier weapons. At one
end OF the room. and just behind Miss
Hollister. was a sunburst Of swords,
which cleaned with a kind Of mockery
behind her white head.
The small round table was convention
ally set. but this only added to the grim
| ness Of the encompassipg arsenal. 4
snowy cloth would ordinarily have miti-
gated the effect Of the grim walls; but l
confess that the color reminded me lit
tie too sOmberly Of the ugly business Tor
which this steel had been designed But
for the presence Of Miss Cecilia. who was
essentially typical OF our twentieth-cen-
fury American woman. l think I might
readily have yielded to the illusion that
was the guest Of some eccentric chate-
laine who had invited me to dine with
ordering me to some chamber Of horrors
for execution.
There seemed to be no reason why one
OF those keen blades on the wall might
not find its way through my ribs between
q highly satisfactory plate Of potage a Ia
have honored any kitchen in the land.
No reference was made to the character
Of the room: I felt, in fact, that Cecilia
rather pleaded with her eyes that I
should make no reference to 1t. And Miss
HOLSTER remarked quite casually. as
though in comment upon my thoughts:
Consistency has buried its thousands
and habit its tens OF thousands. We
should live. Mr.. Ames. for the changes
and chances Of this troubled life. Be-
tween an opera box and a villa at New
port many Of my best friends have per-
!ished"
Il have thought myself that Thoreau
had the right ideal began hopefully;
but she raised her finger warningly.
''Mr. Ames. the mention OF Henry
David Thoreau is wholly distasteful to
me- A man who will deliberately choose
to white lead pencils for chipmunks and
write q book about a moist sand pile like
Cape Cod arouses no sympathy in me-.
forever gathering autumn leaves. or who
tire you in spring by telling you they
have found the first pussy-wtllow feather
ing. and who make all nature odious by
their general goo-gooings. bore me to
death. There is no such thing possible
as the simple life. / give you my word
for it that it is only in the most complex
existence that the spirit Of man can
thrive
! am only a chimney doctor; l have
never been able to make any Roadway in
discussing things esthetic. sentimental or
spiritual with persons Of sound conviction
in such matters. A bishop with whom 1
once roamed the English cathedrals con-
fessed to me his sincere belief that in the
days of the inQuisition the gridiron would
have been my rightful portion. was
fearful lest my hostess should suggest
the medieval church as Q topic. and this
I knew would be disastrous. AS an abb
bess she would. I fancied, have ruled
with an iron hand. But with startling
abruptness she put down her fork, and
bending her wonderfully direct gaze upon
me. asked a question that caused me to
|strangle on bit of asparagus
| II imagine, Mr.. Anes, that you are
member OF some Of the better clubs In
tour, II hv any hancA YIN helcne tn