Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1912-11-14
strange. yet ever 50 old and familiar.

strange, yet ever so old and familiar.
A carriage stopped in front, and his
gaze naturally shifted. There is cease
less attraction in specializing about
newcomers in a 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
young woman Of twenty, certainly not
over that age. George sighed visit
fully. He envied those polo-players
and gentleman-riders and bridge-ex-
pcrts who were stopping at the hotel.
It 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 minute that
George wasn't well-born and well-bred.
simply because his name was Jones.
Many a F1tz-Hugh Maurice or Hugh
Fitz-Maurice might have been But,
no matter. He knew instinctiyely,
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 limited that
she wasn't one of those athletic girls
who bounced in and out Of the din
ing-room, 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
indefinably sad. They spoke not Of
a WEAKNESS Of travel, but Of a weari-
ness of the world, more precisely, Of
the people who inhabited 1t.
She and her companion passed on
into the hotel, and II Georges eyes
veered again toward the desert over
which the stealthy puppies Of night
were creeping, the impulse was me-
chanical; he saw nothing. In truth,
he was desperately lonesome, and he
knew, moreover, that he had no busi-
ness to be. He was young; he could
at pinch tell joke as well as the
next man; and IL he had never had
what he called an adventure, he had
seen many strange and wonderful
things and could describe them with
that mental afterglow which still lin
gers over the sunset of our first ex-
pressions in poetry. But there was
always that hydra-headed monster, for
ever getting about his feet, numbing
his voice, paralyzing his hands, and
never he Topped off a head that an
other did not instantly grow in it's
place. Even the sword Of Perseus
could not have saved him, since one
has to get away from an object In
order to cut 1t down.
Had he really ever tried to over
come this monster? Had he not wait.
ed for the propitious moment (which
you and / know never comes) to
throw off this species from Hades?
1t is all very well, when you are old
and dried up, to turn to ivories and
metals and precious stones; but when
a fellows young! You can't shake
hands with an ivory replica of the Tai
Mahal, nor exchange pleasantries with
Mandarin's ring. nor yet confide joys
and ills into a casket of rare emer.
aids; indeed, they do but emphasize
ones loneliness. II only he had had
a dog; but one can not carry dog
half way round the world and back, at
least not with comfort. What with
all these new-fangled quarantine laws.
! duties, and fussy ships officers who
wouldn't let you keep the animal In
your state-room. travelling with four
footed friend was almost an impossi-
bility. To be sure, women with
| poodles. And then, there was
the bitter Of acid in the knowledge
that no one ever came up to him and
slapped him on the shoulder with a.
Hello, George, old sport; what's the
good word?" for the simple fact that
his shoulder was always -bristling with
spikes, born OF the fear that some one
was making fun Of him.
Perchance his mothers spirit, how
ering over him this evening, might
have been inclined to tears. For they
do say that the ghosts Of the dear
ones are thus employed when we ara
near to committing some folly, or to
exploring some forgotten chamber Of
Pandora's box, or worse still, when
that lady intends emptying the whole
contents down upon our unfortunate
heads. If so be, they were futile
tears; Percival Algernon had accom-
plished its deadly purpose.
Pandora? Well, then. for the bene-
fit Of the children. She was a lady
who was an intimate friend of the
neurological gods. They liked her APP
pearance so well that they one day
gave her box, casket, chest, or what
ever It was. to guard, BY some mar
velous method, known only OF gods,
they had got together all the trials
and tribulations Of mankind (and some
Of the joys) and locked them up In
this casket. 1t was the Golden Age.
as you may surmise You recall Eve
and the apple? Well, Pandora was
forecast of Eve; she couldn't keep her
eyes off the latch, and at length her
hands-Fatal curiosity! Whirr! And
everything has been at skies and at
seyens since that time Pandora In