The Springdale news., 1913-11-14
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HE FINISHED HIS WORK
By J. A. TIFFANY.

 in which they fulfill the dreams of youth
 At woand-twenty he had mistaken the flush of enthusiasm for the lire of genius. After a quarter of cen tury's devotion to small parts i'll third rate theatrical companies, he had been forced to the conclusion that man gets no more, or less, than his labor IS worth; and that his own labor was worth very little.
 His wife had been beautiful. Now she was a poor. faded, commonplace creature. Her Illusions, too, We're all gone, like her beauty; and, worse than that the mans illusions in regard to her were dead also
 She had no more talent for acting than had he; and they both knew it now.
 Of gentle birth she still retained some traces of refinement in spite or her long sojourn in Bohemia. But the novelty, the charm, the mystery of the life were gone.
 Every illusion had been destroyed. save one. and to that they clung with desperate tenacity At an early period in their married life the man had conceived a great literary project.
 I've been thinking, Evelyn" he had said one day, "of writing historical account of the drama from It's first in- ception down to the present day. Imagine the possibilities of such work"
 "Splendid!" the woman had ex- claimed Why don't you begin at once?"
 And he had begun that very day. He knew then that it was no mean task, this that he had set himself It meant much reading. research. condensiAs, writing, rewriting and writing again. Not q book that a man could rattle of in six months CT 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 70 achieve fame for himself and competence for them both by the pub LcatIon Of his great history Of the drama-the dedication to grateful world of his life's work.
 For twenty years and more he Lad stuck stoieally 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 antieipa- =tion of comforts to be bought through the sale Of Reginald's life work.
 T have finished 1t at last Evelyn, the man announced one day-one day while they were in Baltimore - have finished my life's work.
 For three months be 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. fnished!" he would shout exultingly. T have finished my life's work i"-and another time he would repeat the same words, with wall of anguish and despair.
 Then the woman passed her cooling hand across his brow, and sought to comfort him by saying his life's work was only just begun.
 One evening as he lay helpless on his pillow, the crimson rays of the setting sun shone suddenly into the room and lighted up his pallid face, handsome even in cancellation. He started up to his elbow, with wide staring eyes. exclaiming:
 Finished-finished! have fin. ished my life's work. l am going home"
 And the tears that welled to Eve. lyn's eyes had fallen from them to her cheeks, she looked once more upon his face and saw his words were true
 The man was dead He had finished his life's work. He had gone home.
 And while the woman sat in silent grief, gazing on the dead face of him whom she had loved so well, there came gentle tap upon the door.
 It was MT. Hayes, an elderly gentle man from the publishers office who had called once or twice before to in. quire after the health of the author of the bulky manuscript
 At last. my dear lady" he aid. Il am able to report that our house has accepted your husbands life work"
 Your house?" the woman echoed, failing at first to recognize her visitor or comprehend his meaning-the one, cruel sense of widowhood overwhelm. ing all things else.
 Then, as the recollection of the fatal book that had sapped her hus. bands life away came back to her with bitter memories, she said:
 Your house? Too late-too latei He has gone to another house There his lifeis work can be judged the best, His life work will be accepted or re jected. in his fathers house"
 Copyright. by Daily Story Pub Co)
 Something to Think About Laurence D'Orsay Is telling of a