Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-01-08


Some beings have such an erratic frenzy for
usefulness"
Eyes, haven't they?" said Algy, trife
hazy as to what her observations might inn
Div. "But think I've got such grip on the
muse that she isn't likely to get away"
Thurley's sympathy with the muse was
heightened as he closed his iron levers yet
more rigidly about her. He continued with
his declarations of her usefulness to his in
spiration and otherwise revealed his honest,
if somewhat ponderous sense of alteration.
And then that dance was happily ended and
Count Fiaschi succeeded to his place.
THE Count had been accommodating the
! lavas and heats of his nature, in his &C
clstomed Vesuvian style, for several days.
He had fretted in apprehensive impatience
every hour since last he had been permitted
a word with Thurley alone. He was in
tensely excited now by the prospect of TAX
ing her all to himself into the added intoxi-
cation of the waltz.
"Talgame Dioa" he breathed to her
rapturously. Il am more favored than the
tropics! My heart is more making tumult
than the seas! 1t is the glory of you, SO long
by me sought! 1t is my reward for devotion,
burning forever like the altar lamp not to be
extinguished! All! to quench little of that
burning thirst which my heart have blister!
1t is the sea of ecstasy shall enfold me"
Thurley knew not whether to be amused
or alarmed at his attitude and utterance.
His eyes were certainly blazing with some
thing that was not altogether comfortable,
and beneath the handsome olive smoothness
of his complexion surged color that played
like moving flame Much of his ardor she
felt inclined to ascribe to the habit of his
mind. Nevertheless, she had much rather
have it diffused in company, she thought,
than cope with it thus alone.
She could adopt only her ordinary tactics,
smile and quip to meet his phrases. Are
you not afraid to mix your metaphors SO
recklessly?" she asked. Might not the sea
you mentioned engulf the lamp"
"Ah! Even so! have yet another lamp
more seas-more everything! 1t is my
nature! With my love l will wither that
sea! The rosebud shall blossom-now, now!
at the touch of this sunshine, this glory of
my love! This musician! nothing-one
pulsation of my heart! This dance with you
He was destined never to conclude the
rhapsody. Algy Dearborn, cranking by, and
repeating his mousebitten limerick, jolted
the ribs, heart, wind, and seat of volcanoes in
the Counts anatomy with contact SO v1o-
lent that immediate recovery was imprac-
teal The Count ceased emptying and dane
ing. They walked.
Thurley's friendship went out to the grip
per of the muse forthwith.
ooh, mustn't football be splendid when
the right people playa she said with less
irrelevance than Fiaschi might have inn
agined. Interference is such an unex-
pected art!
"Not here!" he answered emphatically.
He took her again in the circle of his arm
and resumed a somewhat less soul-levitating
locomotion. For a minute or more he was
content to accumulate breath and scattered
senses. But he was guiding Thurley with
new intent along the edge of the room, to-
ward the more sequestered fernery, where at
times a couple, detached from the assem-
blage of dancers, took turn for moment
alone.
Perhaps football would be inappropriate
here" Thurlcy agreed innocently; but
should be delighted to see you in a game. !"
"Football-ah!" he answered, slightly
struggling his shoulders. "A game for mere
animals! 1t lacks finesse!"
but not finish. said Thurley. "Some
people like it for that.
but the game par excellence All! love
love! 1t is here you shall better wish to
see me! The white heat of my soul-the
fire of divine in the blood-the beautiful
madness of alteration! All! to know this in
tensitv-to shame the winds-to soar upon