The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1913-08-22

said one day, "of writing historical
account Of the drama from its first In
ception down to the present day
Imagine the possibilities Of such Z
work."
"Splendid!" the woman had ex'
claimed. why don't you begin al
sonce?"
And he had begun that very day. He
knew then that it was no mean task,
this that he had set himself. 1t meant
much reading, research, condensing,
writing, rewriting and writing again.
Not book that a man could rattle Of
In six months or year.
The one illusion that the hard reali-
ties of life had failed to dissipate was
this: That though both were failures
at acting, yet one day the man was
to achieve fame for himself and q
competence for them both by the pub
LEGATION Of his great history Of the
dramatic dedication to a grateful
world Of his life's work.
For twenty years and more he had
stuck stoically to his task.
Often the last nickel went for pa.
per, while the children were crying
for bread. Present necessities were
forgotten, or ignored, in the anticipa-
ton Of comforts to be bought through
the sale Of Reginald's life work.
II have finished 1t at last, Evelyn"
the man announced one day-one day
while they were in Baltimore. n
have finished my life's work."
For three months he awaited the
publishers decision. calling upon them
at intervals, only to be told that his
manuscript would receive the earliest
attention possible. Three long, weary
anxious months: and then the man
took to his bed in . high fever. He
was delirious, and raved about his
book.
FINISHED. flnishedi" he would shout
exultingly. II have finished my life's
workl"-and another time he would
repeat the same words. with q Wall
OF anguish and despair.
Then the woman passed her cooling |
hand across bis brow. and sought 70 |
comfort him BY saying his lifs's work !!
was only just begun.
One evening a. he lay helpless On
hin pillow. the crimson rays Of The
setting sun shone suddenly into the
room and lighted up his pallid face.
handsome even In emaciation. He
started up to his elbow, with vide
staring eyes. exclaiming:
"Finished-fnishedl I have An-
shed my life's work. I am going
1ome."
And the tears that welled to Eve.
yn's eyes had fallen from them to her
cheeks, she looked once more upon
lis face and saw his words were true.
The man was dead. He had finished
lis life's work. He had gone home.
And while the woman sat in silent
Tief, gazing on the dead face Of him
vhom she had loved SO we'll. there
anne gentle tap upon the door.
1t was Mr.. Hayes, an elderly gentle
nan from the publishers office, who
ad called once or twice before to In.
uire after the health Of the author
the bulky manuscript
AT last, my dear lady," he oaid, II
m able to report that our house has
ccepted your husbands life work."
"Your house?" the woman echoed.
liling at first to recognize her visitor .
: comprehend his meaning-the one,
-uel sense Of widowhood overwhelm-
lg all things else.
Then, as the recollection Of the
'tal book that had Slapped her hus-
and's life away came back to her
18th bitter memories. she said:
"Your house7 Too late-too latei
9 has gone to another house. There
8 life's work can be judged the best
Is life work will be accepted or re.
cted. in his fathers house."
Copyright, by Daily Story Pub. Co.)