The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-05-09
THE WEIGHING HOUR Story of the Great American Drama by the Author of the Play,
 Augustus Thomas

Exactly added Hardmuth, from her left. That tragedy pose of MT. Brookfeld's is what men in my busi- ness call an 'alibi,."d
 And may I ask, MT. Hardmuth, what men in your business do?" Men in his business are the awful prosecuting attorneys of this coun- try, Ellinger answered, swarningly. You see the beauty of my method, Mrs. Whipple," Jack remarked, sage muth and a questionable person like MT. Ellinger is what call 'tempering justice with mercy"
 Do you understand what they're talking about?" Viola's mother ask ed, helplessly.
 smiling at Jacks metaphor.
 Here's something, my dear sister, really addressed to your comprehen- sion. And Brookfeld indicated the cup Harvey had just put on Mrs. Campbelrs plate.
 T think it's gumpo," Ellinger whis-
 strained-this old darky beats the world at it--just enough Of every- thing-taste it-see? Notice how you get the chicken and the celery and the pepper and the gumbo and the salt
 and the consomme, each one answer in like a roll-can in a Bible-class- atn't 1t perfect ?'' Ellinger's voice seemed to fit in with the half-light of the room, the old finish of the furniture, and the ivory tint of the doilies. It was the voice of vintage-a voice that could 1 have issued only from that genial, l ruddy face whose permeating good 1 nature was the compensation. and per haps the product. of it's dullness. Helen remembered Lew Elinger in his early forties. more than twenty years before. when the, hair, now white, carried only a ting eof gray
 at the temples and the short mustache was black. . She remembered his wide braid and silk facings in mems wardrObes. She remembered being told that 1t was a point of pride with Lew never to be seen without fresh pink in his button-hole. He was wearing pink tonight. The voice
 had been mellow in those days. It
 was now almost demoralizing in it's lmuff1ed, oily, and smoky familiar ity. Helen recalled Ellinger's reputa- ton Of that olden-"a perfect gentle
 man, reliably punctilious in all cir
 cumstanoes as long as a lady did not
 forget herself''-desspite which reas- grapher grandma had not permitted mother to go driving with MT. Ellin-
 ger. And here he was tonight, smil- Ling to Helen herself In quite disap- pointing harmlessness, his slowing face with its keen little eyes of blue presenting all the colors of an Ameri- Through the mist of her wandering attention Helen retrieved his voice and laid hold again of its message.
 And then he varnishes the inside
 of the tomato with hot par4fsin. let's it .4coe5 andkvputs the fce-crearn- and the muskmeion inside of it," Ellinger Was he still talking of Harvey?
 And how long have you known him. MT. Ellinger ?" Helen recon noitred.
 ..Why, he cooked for Jacks father.' F Harvey of course
 Doesn't it seem good to you, Mrs; fWhippie, to get back to Kentucky and some real cooking?"
 "It's wonderfully restful to be in the old home again." ..sss But the cooking?' Ellinger plead
 Philadelphia has some pride in that T know it,. Ealinger admitted. T
 remember eating my first. oyster
 crabs Newburg in little red-brick
 hotel-the old Belleville."
 Bellevue" Helen corrected.
 'I meant Bellevue" And once more
 Lew's memory led him to revel in the
 one that had framed the hallowed baby crabs.
 A term of special succulent stress
 caught the ear of Mrs. Campbell,
 Lew's other neighbor, and drew from
 her an inquiry. Mrs. Campbell's of the old sport was less feigned than
 Helen's, and Lew lived again the joy
 of the connoisseur over the phantom
 banquet he spread for her imagination i in the vanished room of the famous old hostelry.
 Through the courses of terapin and blower, as Harvey served them, Ellin- ger talked with the fuency of the amateur, sometimes to one, more fre- quently to six, his throaty tones ca
 ressingly lubricating his theme. and
 convincing almost, the least sanguin- ary that the bonne bouche of this re- past was the brain of the blower.
 This was secured, Lew explained, by
 holding the plover's severed head by it's bill and nipping ones front teeth through the paper-shell skull. His illustration of this incisive process, and the luscious though scarcely aud fble inhalatio that was an unavoid-
 able part of it. sent little shivers over Viola's shoulders. Ellinger, tempor-
 arily estopped of speech. pointed to the girls face, tensely awry in mim- etic contemplation of his own, and tho general laugh released her from her
 auto-hypnosis.
 Aside from their occasional attention to such compelling demonstrations as this, Helen found her thoughts ram
 bling leisurely. Hardmuth was mo- | ticeably engrossed in Viola, and his perfunetory asides to herself marked
 only the moments of general com ment
 How unlike this table-talk had been
 that which Helen Whipple had known came into her mental vision in easy
 and blending succession pictures of the breakfast and dinner. table. or the little dinfng-roon in the red Hrick,
 rectangular dwelling at GernnantoWn.
 in which she and Dr.. Whipple had
 lived during the early years of their
 marriage; of her lonely vigils. there
 as the doctors increasing practice in
 the city called him from the pleasant
 suburb; Clay's nursery years. when
 the breakfast had been devoted. to the
 doctors morning paper and to her
 care of the china within reach of the
 fof]Ss, inf3nS p%ssS1|ss; %sj35 <, thsS A A55d SaS the busy physician, the domestic com
 munion unhappily abridged by his pro-
 fessional programme and interrupted
 by calls telephonic and personal Only the sober, the serious, the dutiful side
 of living-a long, prosaic period of
 unmitigated strain and stress.
 Looking across the table at Jack,
 what a contrast she found in his
 amiable and expressive countenance