Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1913-07-09

motif or any plan he chose. Etheridge
had already written the opening in
dialogue between his hero and the foil.
who was to bring out the heros
strength of character, his manliness,
his breadth of soul. his virtue. he
handed it to his coach, who read 1t and
tossed it back TO him centemptuously
Write it over" he said. 81 will
start your story for you. Take my die.
tation.'
For an hour Etheridge wrote while
his coach dictated. AS the dialogue ,
between the two characters proceeded
the villain Of the story doomed up as a
splendid man, while the hero percepti.
bly, dwindled. Not a word did the hero
speak that was not good, ana not a
word was uttered by the villain that
was not evil, and vet the evil was
beautiful as the blue heavens and the
good sounded like a mockery of right
eouSness.
Now" said the man who had pro-
duced this effect, II have given you
the pitch. You can sing the song your
self, only to keep you up to the key I
will sit here and chat with you, as
portrait painters do with those sitting
for them in order TO draw their souls
out into their faces. Proceed"
Curious to discover whether this re.
markable master in the art Of writ
ing could infuse genius into him &C.
cording to his boast, Etheridge took
his pen and began to write The
stranger ratified on, at times to him
self, at times to the novelist. 1t seem
ed to the latter that he was sitting in
a bower of flowers, each flower ex-
haling its own delicious perfume. The
light seemed broken into its COM
ponent parts each color intensified in
beauty. Thoughts-Such thoughts as
he had never known before-crowded
in upon his brain. Evil-was endowed
with the attributes of the good; good
was endowed with the attributes of
the evil. The woman foil, too, was
ravishing. She attempted to draw the
hero from the pure woman he loved,
ard, although he resisted her seduc-
tons. he seemed despicable that he
did SO.
When noon came Etheridge desired
declared that he had written enough
for one day and must break off. Ris-
ing, the stranger bowed himself away,
and as he receded Etheridge heard
him talking and chuckling to himself
And as he was lost amid the trees
growing on the mountain side there
came back the echo of laughter.
The next morning the work was re-
newed under the inspiration Of the
coach, and the next and the next. AS
the plot developed it seemed that it
could have been invented only by Sa-
tan. It was in itself a thing OF
genius. Etheridge became infatuated
with 1t and with his characters. When
| the clock in the cottage struck IL his
| coach would go no further Once after
I he had gone Etheridge undertook to
proceed with the work himself, but
when he stopped to read what he had
| written he tore the paper into frag-
| ments.
! When the story rounded to its close
1t seemed to Etheridge that all his
| characters had become evil and that
evil was the great desideratum of hui
man existence. The good and the bad
were whiring before him in a merry
dance. The hero and heroine, who had
! passed from the good to the evil, were
making merry over their fall, and the
| others were clapping their hands and
| shouting, What waste of time to
have been good"' And the chief fea-
ture of it was that the author found
himself sympathizing with vice tri-
umphant.
AS he was writing the last pages
Etheridge heard the creaking Of a We
bicle and, looking down the road, saw
a hearse approaching surrounded by
uncovered mountaineers. Glancing at
| his coach, he saw a sardonic scowl on
his face.
This is death" he said, "that men
| so much fear. 1t makes men towards.
But / shall overcome it in the end"
When the procession came opposite
the cottage, suddenly. without warn
ing, the stranger covered. Sinking
down like whipped cur, he endeav-
ored to get away from the hearse, but
there was no way to do that except by
first advancing Trembling in every
limb, he remained covering till the
funeral party had passed, then with.
out a farewell darted away in the OPP
posite direction.
AS he did so the woman of the house
threw up a sash and said:
Il knew It,"
KNEW whatl'
Hes the devil"
1.-The devilY
Eyes. Didn't you see what drove him
away?"
mo; what was it,
THE cross on the hearse"
Etheridge sat for few moments try
ing to collect his faculties. When be
had succeeded he took the manuscript
OF his story into the house, threw Il
into the fire and watched 1t burn, with
yellow and blue and green and red
fame, till 1t was entirely consumed.
II July 9 in American