Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1910-04-28

glance and from the more open reve-
lation Of friends, that Natalie, the
youngest daughter. along with the
financial and social gifts which she
would undeniably bring, was his for
the asking.
His for the asking! And Natalie
was fine looking girl, well formed,
with head crowned with coil unon
coil Of heavy auburn hair. A dozen
artists had painted Natalie, In call
gown, in street gown, with her
spaniel, in masquerade costume.
Without question, Natalie de Witt
was beautiful girl, but-and the
man condemned himself even though
he knew his analysis was justified -
she was great. beautiful over-petted
over-fed piece Of animal femininity
She had no spark OF her mothers
cleverness, no glimmer OF her wit.
Her life had been thought out tor her
from the beginning, and she was too
sapless thing to dream now Of re-
bellion too lazy to do other than drift
onward with the current. If he asked
her she would consent and she was
at least too inanimate creature to
interfere in later life with any of his
dreams. Why ask for more? II she
brought no inspiration, at least she
would bring no disturbing element.
There would be leisure and some
peace. Why ask for more?
O'Neill stood now upon his feet, de-
termined and quite done with argu-
ment. It was all so simple, SO easy
and quite inevitable. If he thought
the wit. the cleverness to the house
hold. she in turn would bring the
money, the tangible means Of ex-
istence. If he brought the great
thoughts, the inspiration of genius,
she, on her side, would furnish the
leisure wherein to make good his
dreams. If he attracted the circle of
artists and poets, she would furnish,
as her mother before her, hospitality
and unstinted wealth, the allurements
of comfort and ease.
And yet John O'Neill stood, mo-
tionless as stone image, bound fast
amid the towering ferns and irag-
rant orange trees. Why did he not
seek at once the famous beauty?
There could be no doubt as to her
attitude, loving daughter of a doting
mother. Why, then, fearing no re-
buff, did he not go at once and offer
her his hand and heart?
A little thing, quit Insignificant and
beside the point, yet still bearing
on his early youth, held him. A tiny
letter now resting next his heart, red
.olent of old days and past, sweet mem
cries.
John, it is you that our mother is
speaking Of now. She is SO old, John,
f00 ic CT 81 u
we both be wanting.
John, Is 1t not strange that Rosie
will not marry the rich MacVey, for
all he courts her still and will not
go" that was part Of 1t.
There was music now in the room
beyond-a violin and piano, following
one another, laughing, leaping and
romping, glittering on through mex
pressible mazes of technical splendor.
The man listened, and gradually his
eyes hardened again, his brain the
master Of his heart. Yes; he was born
to all this sort of thing! 1t was fool
ish, unutterably mad to dwell ION the
long dead past. He would bury 1t all
now, his life would swing on in per-
feet harmony, egortless, brilliant and
we'll controlled. He would write his
Aunt Katrine this very night, and how
proud they would be to hear Of this
great match. He stepped forward to
seek the girl beyond.
Then he paused again. A fresh
young voice was raised. clear, piercing
in It's untrammeled sweetness. 1t was
song now, dealing not at all with
trills, simple and unhampered in its
sway--a song, a real song, and with
out flaw:
when meadow larks would singing
be in old Glentair
Was one sweet lass with eyes Of blue
and tangled golden hair,
For Irish eyes are fairy fax, no other
eyes SO blue,
Come nestle In my arms and swing
upon the shoogy-shoo."
On through the verses, vibrant,
quivering and alive, and O'Neill
bowed his head, swaying in the new
found realization Of his old best self.
OF what use the splendor, Of what
use the technic, of what use the
beautiful binding, if the book were
empty within? Rosie. Rosie. His soul
bowed with the knowledge that for
him there was but one woman who
through all the years had found him
worthy of the waiting:
"Ah well, the world goes up and down
and some sweet day
It's shoogy-shoo will swing us two
where signs will pass away.
So nestle close your bonny head and
close your eyes Of blue,
And swing with me and memory upon
the shoogy-shoo."
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"O'Neill's crazy. said the gosisps Of
the studio circle. Cali he wanted 70
work out his big drama was leisure
and little time. O'Neill's crazy, and
he was an idiot to run back to the old
country in that erratic madcap man.
ner"
7 "O'Neilrs crazy said little blue.
eyed woman back in old Ireland,
"O'Neill's crazy" But the manner Of
his madness, being not uncommon
one, she laughed as she found her
bonny heart locked fast within the
shelter of his arms.
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