Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-01-19

one tor my single summer OF JOY.
"The autumn always came, smiled the girl.
at would never have come for me, he
answered. wont you believe me when |
say that have no part in this strange drama
that is going on at Ba1dpate? Won't you
credit it when say that / have no idea why
you and the professor and Bland are here,
nor why the Mayor of Rcuton has the fifth
key? Won't you tell me what it all mcans?"
Il mustn't, she replied shaking her head.
81 can trust no one-not even you. mustn't
believe that you don't know: it's preposter-
Gus. | must say over and over, Even he is
simply will you pardon mc?-' flirting,
trying to learn what he can learn | rnust!"
"You can't even tell me why you wept in
the station?"
"For simple, silly reason. was afraid.
had taken up task too big for me by far
taken it up bravely when | was out in the
sunlight of Reuton. But when l saw Upper
Asqucwan Falls, and the dark came, and
that dingy station swallowed me up, some
thing gave way inside me, and l felt | was
going to fail Sol cried. a woman's way"
IF were only permitted to help
"No-I must go forward alone. can
trust no one, now. Perhaps things will
change. i hope they will
7 ISTEN!" said Magee. 81 am telling you
- the truth. Perhaps you read novel
called The Lost Limousine. He was re-
solved to claim its authorship, tell her of his
real purpose in coming to Baldpate, and
urge her to confide in him.
"Yes,' said the girl before he could con-
tinue, Il did read it. And it hurt me. 1t
was so terribly insinccre! The man had
It's all great big joke. don't believe in
these people myself. I've just created them
to make them dance for you. Don't be
fooled: it s only a novel / don't like that
sort of thing. | want writer really to mean
all he says from the bottom of his heart
Magee bit his lip. His determination to
claim the authorship of "The Lost Limou-
sine was quite gone.
II want him to make me feel with his peO-
ple," the girl went on seriously. "Perhaps |
can explain by telling you of something that
happened to me once. 1t was when was at
college. There was blind girl in my class,
and one night | went to call on her. / met
her in the corridor of her dormitory. Some
body had just brought her back from an
evening lecture and left her there. She un-
locked her door, and we went in. 1t was
pitch dark in the room-the first thing |
thought of was light. But she-shc just
sat down and began to talk. She had forgot
ten to light the gas!'
The girl paused, her eyes very wide, and
it seemed to Magee that she shivered slightly.
Can you imagine it," she asked. "She
chatted on-quite chcerfully, as remember
it. And IL stumbled round and fell into a
chair, cold and trembly and sick with the
awful horror of blindness, for the first time
in my life. thought had imagined before
what it was to be blind,-just by shutting
my eyes for second But as sat there in
the blackness, and listened to that girl chat
ter, and realized that it had never occurred
to her to light lamp, then for the first time
Il knew knew!'
Again she stopped, and Magee, looking at
her, felt what he had never experienced be-
fore,-a thrill at a woman's near presence.
THAT'S what ask of a writer" she said,
"that he make me feel for his people as felt
for that girl that night. Am l asking too
much? 1t need not be for one who is en-
meshed in tragedy, it may be for one whose
heart is as glad as May morning; but he
must make me feel. And he can't do that if
he doesn't feel himself, can he?"
William Hallowcll Magee actually hung
his head. "He can't he confessed softly.
"You're quite right. I like you immensely
more than can say. And, even if you
feel you can't trust me, want you to know
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