The Mena weekly star., 1913-03-20

and after that he went up the ladder in bounds, on his own merit, mind you, for his father never stirred a hand to boost him. He took the in- terest in rugs that turns a buyer into Q collector; 1t became a fascinating pleasure rather than a business. He became invaluable to the house. and acquired some fame as a judge and an appraiser. When the chief-buyer
 cured George was given the position, with an itinerary that carried him half way round the planet once a year, to Greece, Turkey, Persia, Arabia, and India, the lands of the senii and the bottles, of arabesques, of temples and tombs, of many-colored turbans and flowing robes and distracting tongues. He walked and always in a kind of mental entertainment.
 The suave and elusive Oriental, With his sharp practices, found his match in this pleasant young man, who knew the history of the very wools and cottons and silks woven in rug or carpet. So George pros pered, became known in strange places, by strange peoples; and saw romance, light of foot and eager of eye, pass and repass; learned that romance did not essentially mean fall ing in love or rescuing maidens from burning houses and wrecks; that, on the contrary, true romance was kalei- doscopic, having more brilliant facets than a diamond; and that the man who begins with nothing and ends with something is more wonderful than any excursion recounted by Sin lad or any tale by Scheherazade. But he still hoped that the iridescent god dess would some day touch his shoul- der and lead him into that maze of romance so peculiar to his own fancy.
 And then into this little world of business and pleasure came death and death again, leaving him alone and with a twisted heart Riches mattered little, and the sounding title of vice-president still less. It was with distinct shock that he realized the mother and the father had been with him so long that he had forgot ten to make other friends. From one thing to another he turned in hope to soothe the smart, to heal the wound; and after time he drifted, as all shy, intelligent and imaginative men drift who are friendless, into the silent and intimate comradeship of in- animate things, such as jewels, worries, old metals, rare woods and ancient embroideries, and perhaps more con- forting than all these, good books.
 The proper tale of how the afore- said iridescent goddess jostled (for it scarce may oe said that she led) him into a romance lacking neither com edy nor tragedy, now begins with a 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 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 (to be precise. 19O9), George sat on the tea-veranda of the Hotel Semiramis in Cairo. A book lay idly upon his knees. It 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- ous bazaars, either here in Egypt or over wonder in India, nothing ever be- fell more exciting than an argument with a carriage-driver. He never car ried smallarms, 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 a 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
 We'll, 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. Why couldn't things befall him as they did the chap in this book? He was sure he could be- have as well, if not better; for this fellow was too handsome, too brave, too strong, not to be something of an ass once in a while.
 George, you old fool, what's the use2" he thought. What's the use of desire that never goes in a straight line, but always round and round in a circle?"
 He thrust aside his grievance and surrendered to the never-ending won der of the Egyptian sunset; the Nile feluccas, riding upon perfect refiec-