Hopkinsville Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1889-1918, 1913-04-26

4 nc WOIu Ol the Idul ~ tue lV'Ul
occurred to him-"this revival Of old
fashions is so interesting"
"Old fashions" muttered Thomas,
sentimentally. "Old fashions--old
fricnd-old friend John Gleason
and Polly-Jovew What had made
him think Of Polly? And 30 he
unused and then sprang to his feet.
Why not? 1t could do no harm to
try. Why not revive Polly-intro-
duce her to the daughters of the
women who had chuckIed over her
thirty years agoF
"Old fashions are 50 Interestingly
1t was sure to succeed. A man
could not lose all his skill in thirty
years. The National was still APP
pearing Fridays.
Thomas plunged for his desk and
pulled out a roll of paper, filed his
pen-and then sank back and
chewed his mustache. Should she be
married-a widow-a divorceeY 1t
was hard to choose. Should she still
be young? Or should it be tale
of Polly's daughter?
An hour passed, Thomas had
not written a word. Then an idea
offered itself. He commenced to
write. It was slow work. The lines
did not sound clever when he re-read
them. He scratched and rewrote
and remodeled and finally became
enthusiastic. The night was hot.
He set his bottle of Scotch within
reach. His coat and collar were on
the floor A wet towel was bound
about his head. And so he wrote,
his blood ON fire, his thoughts racing
far ahead of his pen. He paused
only to drink Of the Scotch or
moisten the towel.
His work swept him away-he was
Tommy-the old Polly man again
he could feel the young blood cours-
ing through his veins-and Polly
the Polly of old, was dashing
through the pages an iridescent, ir-
resistible bit of Irish humanity,
adorably impish and lovable.
'I'm in love with her myself"
swore Tommy, as he measured
drink.
All night he wrote, and then,
when the sun awoke the flies on the
window screen, the old man dropped
his pen and sobbed and fell asleep
on his arms.
He awoke hours later.
The sun was setting.
He rubbed his eyes and locked
about Lin. Then he remembered
Polly. He stepped into the bath
room and plunged his head and arms
in cold water. Then he turned to
his desk and picked up the bunch Of
papers.
The first page was blank. Thomas
yawned and crumpled it and threw
it in the basket. The next was blank
also. And the third, and the fourth.
All the mass of papers were no.
touched by pen.
In a frenzy he sprang to his feet.
A few pages lay on the floor. Not
a word was written upon them.
The man snarled and trampled
them. Then his eyes fell on the
whisky flask.
He lifed tit was empty. He
understood then.
1t had all been a nightmare
drunken fantasy. He had not writ
ten word. He buried his head in
his arm and his hand touched the
pistol.
Slowly he drew it out and set it
before him. He lit a cigar. The
blue smoke curled to the ceiling.
Then he held the thing to his head
and pulled the trigger.
The National on Friday showed a
handsome photograph of William
Thomas, Esq.
1t lamented his death-his fall
| his debaucheries.
Finally it announced that the fol
lowing week would be published 4
story by him, found by his house
keeper, good soul, while he was
drunk.
She had taken it to her room t.
preserve it.
H. c,,lIso o,,,oJ bor n ,-ofo n.