The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1912-10-17

embrolderles, and perhaps more COM
forting than all these, good books.
The proper tale of how the afore-
said iridescent, goddess jostled (for It
scarce may be said that she led) him
into romance lacking neither COM
edy nor tragedy, now begins with
trifling bit Of retrospection. One Of
those women who were not good and
who looked into the clear pool Of the
boys mind saw the harmless longing
there, and made note, hoping to find
profit by her knowledge when the per-
tinent day arrived. She was a woman
so pleasing, so handsome, so adroit,
that many q man, older and wiser
than George, found her mesh too
strong for him. Her plan matured,
suddenly and brilliantly, as projects
of men and women of her class and
caliber without variation do.
Late one December afternoon Ito
be precise, 1909), George sat on the
tea-veranda Of the Hotel Semiramis
in Cairo. A book lay idly upon his
knees. 1t was one of those yarns
in which something was happening
every other minute. AS adventures
go, George had never had real one
in all his twenty-eight years, and he
believed that fate had treated him
rather shabbily. He didn't quite ap-
preciate her reserve. No matter how
late he wandered through the mysteri-
GUS bazaars, either here in Egypt or
over yonder in India, nothing ever be-
fell more exciting than an argument
with a carriage-driver. He never car
ried small-arms, for he would not
have known how to use them. The
only deadly things in his hands were
bass-rods and tennis-racquets. No,
nothing ever happened to him; yet
he never met a man in ships smoke
room who hadn't run the gamut Of
thrilling experiences. AS George
wasn't liar himself, he believed all
he saw and most Of what he heard.
Well, here he was, eight-and-twenty,
a pocket full of money, a heart full
of life, and as hopeless an outlook, so
far as romance and adventure were
concerned, as an old maid in New
England village.
George, you old fool, what's the
use?" he thought. whats the use
of a desire that never goes in a
straight line, but always round and
round in circle?"
He thrust aside his grievance and
surrendered to the neverending won
der of the Egyptian sunset; the Nile
feluccas, riding upon perfect refec-
tions; the date-palms, black and mo-
tionless against the translucent blue
of the sky; the amethystine prisms Of
the Pyramids, and the deepening gold
of the deserts brim. He loved the
Orient, always so new, always so
strange, yet ever so old and familiar
. A carriage stopped in front, and his
gaze naturally shifted. There is cease.
newcomers in hotel, what they are,
what they do, where they come from,
and where they are going. A fine
elderly man Of fifty got out. In the
square set Of his shoulders, the flow
ing white mustache and imperial,
there was a suggestion of militarism.
He was Immediately followed by a
young woman of twenty, certainly not
over that age. George sighed wist-
fully. He envied those polo-players
and gentleman-riders and bridge-ex-
perts who were stopping at the hotel.
1t wouldn't be an hour after dinner
before some one of them found out who
she was and spoke to her in that easy
style which he concluded must be
gift rather than an accomplishment.
You mustn't suppose for a minute that
George wasn't well-born and well-bred,
simply because his name was Jones.
Many a Fitz-Hugh Maurice or Hugh
might have been But,
no matter. He knew instinctively,
then, what elegance was when he saw
it, and this girl was elegant, in dress,
in movement. He rather liked the
pallor of her skin, which hinted that
she wasn't one Of those athletic girls
who bounced in and out of the din
talking loudly and smoking
cigarettes and playing bridge for six
penny points. She was tall. He was
sure that her eyes were on the level
with his own. The grey veil that
dropped from the rim Of her simple
Leghorn hat to the tip of her nose OBJ
scured her eyes, so he could not know
that they were large and brown and
sad. They spoke not of
a WEAKNESS Of travel, but of weari-