The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-11-08
THE FARMER: NOVEMBER 8, 1911

bourne had pulled big branch of the tulip tree to hand him like bouquet over the footlights, but the girls part ed lips, her wide deep brown eyes, had thanked him in better way.
 The music, now floating over the garden by such subconscious assocfa- ton, recalled this scene, overlaid, but never forgotten. Hark! A cascade of silver notes, and then an old air that had been revived in his time to become Che madness of the music halls and the pet of the pianolas-the one the crowded campus had been won't to demand with loudest voice when his tenor led the Senior Singing" It brought back with a rush the familiar faces, the gray ivied dormitories with their slim iron balconies, the throb- ping plaint of mandolins and his own voice
 Of all the girls that are so smart
 There's none like pretty Sally!
 She is the darling of my heart,
 And she lives
 He scarcely knew he sang, but the vibrant tenor, lifting across the scent of the wistaria, came clearly to the girl at the piano. For moment Bar bara's fingers played on as she listened with strained wonder. Then the mu- sic ceased with a discord and she came quickly through the opened window.
 The song was smitten from Daunts lips. Tn the instant that she stood out lined on the broad piazza, fierce snarling yelp and a chatter came from within the house and there rang out screamed Japanese warning. An outer door flew open and the huge figure of Dr. Bersonin ran out, pursued by leaping white shadow, while the air thrilled to the savage cry of a hound, shaken with rage.
 Run, Barbara" The ambassadors s voice came from the doorway. But the white, moonlit figure, in it's gauzy evening gown, turned too late. Empty handed, Daunt dashed for the piazza, as. with crash. heavy porch chair, hurled by a Japanese house boy, penned the animal for an instant in a corner. He caught the white figure up in his arms, sprang into the shade of the wistaria arbor, and set her feet on its high railing. The voice from the doorway called again, sharply: "This way, doctor! Quickv' The wolfhound. trailing its broken chain, had leaped the barrier and was launched straight at the crouching ex- pert. The latter had dragged some thing small and square from his pocket and he seemed now to hold this out be- fore him. Daunt wrenching a cleat from the arbor railing, felt puff of cold wird strike his face, and some thing like an elf1n note of music, high , and thin as an insects, .drifted across the confusion. He rushed forward with his improvised weapon-then stopped short. The dog was no longer there.
 The ambassador made an exclama- ! ton. He stepped down and peered under the piazza. Even in the dim light the long space was pa1pably empty. The head boy spoke rapidly in Japanese and pointed toward the gate.
 He says he must have jumped down this side," explained Daunt, "and run out to the street. He's no where in the garden, at any rate We can see every inch. How surprisingy'
 Bersonin had sat down on the edge of the piazza. He was crouched far over. His big frame was shaken with violent shudderings. Suddenly his head went back, and he began to laugh-a jarring, grating, weird man | hysteria that seemed to burst sudden Iy beyond his control.