St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1910-08-17

| and more unsavory reputation until it's
like was not to. be found outside a
| penitentiary The crux of his career
| In his own country was reached during
n midnight quarrel in Chicago, when he
shot a negro gambler. Harman's wife
| left him, and the papers recorded her
application for a divorce. She was
| George Wards second cousin, the
| daughter of Baltimore clergyman; a
belle in a season and town of bellies
and a delightful headstrong creature
| from all accounts. She had made a
runaway match of it with Hartman
three years before, their affair having
been earnestly opposed by all her rela-
tives, especially by poor George, who
came over to Paris just after the we'd
ding in a miserable frame of mind
Hartman next began trip round the
world with an orgy which continued
from San Francisco to Bangkok. where,
in the company of some congenial fell
low travellers, he interfered in native
ceremonial with the result that one of
his companions was drowned. In
Rome he was rescued with difficulty
from a street mob that unreasonably
refused to accept intoxication as an
excuse for his riding down a child on
his way to the hunt. Later we had
been hearing from Monte Carlo of his
disastrous plunges at roulette.
I still take three home newspapers,
trying to follow the people l knew and
the things that happen, and the ubiqui-
ty of so worthless a creature as LARA
bee Hartman in the columns | dredged
h = g
irritation to this present exile Not
only that. He had usurped space in
the continental papers, and of late my
favorite Partisan journal had served
him to me with my morning coffee,
only limiting his name, but offering
him with that gracious satire charac-
teristic of the Gallo journalist writing
of anything American. And SO this
grotesque wreck of a man was we'll
known to the boulevard-one of it's
sights. That was to be perceived by
the futter he caused, by the turning
of heads in his direction and the low
laughter of the people at the little ia
bles. Three or four in the rear ranks
had risen to their feet.
Some one behind us chuckled aloud,
''They say Mariana beats him.
"Evidently!''
The dancer was aware of the futter
and called Harman's attention to it
with touch upon his arm and a laugh
and nod of her violent plumage.
At that he seemed to rouse himself
somewhat. His head rolled heavily
over upon his shoulder, the lids lifted
a little from the red shot eyes, show
5o Il; foII
upon the many staring faces.
Ward pulled my sleeve.
Come" he said, 'let US go over to
the Luxembourg gardens where the air
is cleaner"
Ward is a portrait painter, and in
the matter of vogue there seem to be
no pinnacles left for him to surmount.
He has painted most of the very
rich women of fashion who have come
to Paris of late years, and he has be-
come so prosperous, has such a polite
celebrity and his opinions upon art
are so conclusively quoted that the
friendship of some of US who started
with him has been dangerously strain
ed
His sister, Miss Elizabeth, looks after
him now. She came with him when
he returned to Paris after his diSap-
pointment in the unfortunate Hartman
affair, and she took charge of all his
business as well asg his social arrange
ments (she has been accused Of a
theory that the two things may be
happily combined), making him lease
a house in an extensively modish
quarter near the Avenue du Bots de
ID
stinctively~ fashionable woman, prac-
teal withaI, and to her mind success
should be not only respectable, but
Smart"
It was Georges habit to come often
to see me. He always really liked the
sort of society his sister had brought
about him, but now and then there
were intervals when it wore on him
little, l think. Sometimes he came for
me in his automobile, and we would
make a mild excursion to breakfast
in the country, and that is what hap
pened one morning about three weeks
after the day when we had sought
pure air in the Luxembourg gardens.
We drove out through the Bots and
by Suresnes, striking into a rounda-
bout road to Versailles beyond st.
Cloud. 1t was June, dustless and
balmy noon, the air thinly gilded by a
faint haze, and I know few things
pleasanter than that road on a fair
day Of the early summer and no
sweeter way to course it than in an
open car.
"After aI,' said George, with a plac-
id wave Of the hand, 81 sometimes
wish that the landscape had called me.
You outdoor men havalall the health
and pleasure of living III the open, and
as for the work-oh, you fellows think
you work, but you don't know what |
it means"
He indicated the white road running
before US between open fields to a |
curve. where it descended to pass be- |