Alexandria gazette. [volume] (Alexandria, D.C.) 1834-1974, 1912-07-20


-Ir man couIa only go DacI ten
years and take a new start. ASST
balling his fist at the reflection in the
mirror. Swivel and whine over the
ped Of your own making. You had
your opportunity, but you listened to
the popping of champagne-corks, the
mutter of cards, the inane drivel of
chorus-ladies. You had decent col
iege record, too. Bah! What guile
less fool you were! You ran on, didn't
you, till you found your neck in the
loop at the end of the rope? And
perhaps that soft-footed, estimable
brother of yours didn't yank 1t taut as
a hangmans? You heard the codicil;
into one ear and out the other. Even
then you had your chance; patience
for two short years, and million. No,
a thousand times no. You knew what
you were about, empty-headed fool!
And today, two pennies for a dead
mans eyes"
He dropped his fist dejectedly.
Where had the first step begun? And
where would be the last? In soma
drab corner, possibly; drink, NOR
phine, or starvation; he'd never have
the courage to finish it with bullet.
He was terribly bitter. Everything
worth while seemed to have slipped
Through his fingers, his pleasure-loy-
ing fingers.
"Come, come, Horace; buck up.
Still the ruby kindles in the vine. No
turning back now. Well go on till we
come bang! against the wall. There
may be some good bouts between here
and there. l wonder what Gioconda
would say if she knew why l was so
eager for this game?"
He went down 70 dinner, and they
gave him table in an obscure corner,
as subtle reminder that his style was
passe. He didn't care; he was hungry
and thirsty. He could see nearly every
one, even if only few could see him.
This was somewhat to his vantage. Ha
endeavored to pick out Percival Alger-
non; but there were too many high
collars, too many monocles. So he
'contented himself with a mild philo-
sophical observance Of the scene. The
murmur of voices, rising as the wall
of the violins, sank, sinking as the
wall rose; the tinkle Of glass and
china, the silver and linen, the pretty
women in their rustling gowns, the
delicate perfumes, the flash OF an
arm, the CLINT of q, polished shoulder;
this was the essence OF life he coveted.
He smiled at the thought and the sure
knowledge that he was not the only
wolf in the fold Ay, and who among
these dainty Red Riding Hoods might
be fooled by a vulpine grandmother?
Truth, when a fellow winnowed it all
down to. handful, there were only,
fools and rogues. II one was q fool,
the rogue got you, and he in turn de!
,voured himself.
He held his glass toward the table
lamp. moved 1t slowly to and fro un-
der his nose, epicureanly; then he
slipped the wine. Something like! It
ran across his tongue ard down his
throat in tingling fire, nectarious; and
he went half way to Olympus, to tho
feet Of the gods. For weeks he had
lived in the vilest haunts. in desperate
straits, his life in his open hands; and
now once more he had crawled FROM
the depths to the outer crust Of the
world. It did not matter that he was
destined to so down into the depths
again; so long as the spark burned
he was going to crawl back each time,
Damnable luck! He could have lived
like prince. Twenty-four hundred,
and all in two nights, q steady stream
Of gold into the pockets Of men whom
he could have cheated with consum-
mate case. and didn't A fine wolf,
whose predatory instincts were still
,riveted to that obsolete thing called
conscience!
Conscience? Rotl Let US for
once be frank and write it down as
caution, as fear Of publicity, anything
but the white guardian-angel Of tho
Immortality Of the soul. Heap up the
gold, Apollyon; heap it up, higher and
higher, till not a squeak Of that still
small voice that once awoke the chap
in the Old Testament can ever again
be heard. Now, no more retrospection,
Horace; no more analysis; the vital
question SINNERS down to this: II
,Percival Algernon balks, how far will
four soYereigns go?"
CHAPTER III.