Fulton County tribune. (Wauseon, Ohio) 1883-1925, 1914-11-06

4uSldltly.' fOT d mOIuSul HS SIdiCd a.
me from head to foot, then he turned
away without a word and never
touched the hand l offered him. My
Cod how that hurti" A shiVer went
through the mans body.
That happened twenty-five years
ago." said Merry hesitatingly. You
can't lay up a boyhood sin against a
man. He ~changes-he's almost an
other human being"
mo, he isn't" answered Wentworth
~doggedly. Il want to show you that
the psychological fellow was in the
right. That was my first fall from
grace; but there was a second lesion.
1t was worse, worse even than-than
what | did to you, Merry. / was out
in the Balkan mountains where the
blamed barbarian Turks go tearing at
each others threats once in so often.
The world looked on, waiting for a
story of war. had none to tell, moth
ing happened but a skirmish or two
ono in a while. There was nothing
a man could make into a story. 1t
was a wretched campaign. Young
Forsyth, of the Tribune, and | hung
together through it for months, living
like stray dogs, sick to death of u
job, and ready to throw it up at any
moment. One morning at daybreak
we were awakened by shooting. We
scrambled from the ave where we
had slept and looked down into the
re 110r Nc ryora in fhn unr1 boarf nf
a battle, and these savages were climb
ing over the rocks with their cutlasses
flashing. They shrieked like maniacs,
the bullets went flying about our
heads. l crept back to the hole among
the rocks where we had spent the
night. / couldn't see what was hap
pening; ! didn't want to see. Death
shrieks echoed all around and above
me. 1t was the most hellish din of
battle / ever listened to. l had turned
coward. / lay there with every tooth
in my head c~hattering. A nice con-
fession for a man to make. eh?v asked
Wentworth with a grim smile.
Merry half rose then dropped back
into his chair. Hold on, Enoch, l
swear you're not fit for this sort OF
thing! Your temperature will go up,
then the nurse
Damn the nurse. I'm fit enough:
keep still. l want to finish my story.
Forsyth, the intrepid young fool, went
creeping along the face of the clif.
He had never seen a battle before.
called to him to lie low, but he never
needed me. Through a crevice in the
rock / saw him stretch his head owe
the chasm and crane his neck, then
plunge down and begin to write as II
he were mad. Once l sneaked GU;
and tried to drag him In beside me.
He fought like a wildcat. so | went
back to shelter. The bullets pinged on
the rocks all around me. Suddenly ]
heard a low, gurgling, awful cry and
somebody called my name in a hoarse
shout. 1t was Forsyth. ] crept out.
He stood on a cliff above me, clutch
ing at his throat, then he toppled and
fell. He came plunging down over the
rocks until he reached my feet. He
was dead, stark dead, when | pulled
him into the cave. His notebook was
clutched SO tight in his hand that !
tore a corner from n page as I took
it from his fingers. / buried him right
there.
After a little while the battle fiz-
zled down to a stray shot or two. That
night under the CLEAN OF a sputtering
little torch l read Forsyth's story. II
was ENTHUSIASTICALLY tremen.
unexpectedly tremendous. 1t read
like inspired stuff. I had never
dreamed the fellow had such a vocab
ulary. And he lay there close beside
me, asleep-under the damp, warm
soft earth. | had a fit of the horrors
/ put out my light, stuffed the pages
of writing in my pocket, then went
doubling and twisting down those wild
mountains, lodging the enemy's camp
fires and their Internal bullets, unit
l reached the miserable little town In
the valley we two men had oul
headquarters. / hurried to the tele
graph Office to send out Forsyth's storl
to the Tribune, with the news of hi:
death. | was waiting to get the wir,
when somebody handed me a cable
l looked at it h~alf-dazed. 1t came from
my own paper, crazy because l ha,
sent them no story; they were hungr,
al vultures for news. AS soon as
could get a wire l sen out Forsyth
story"
Under his manner" asked Merr.
quietly.
No" Enoch lifted his head, locke,
at his friend with guilt and shame ii
his eyes, then he turned away. INC
| signed my own name to it. / sen
it to my own paper. ! wired the new
of Forsyth's death to the Tribune
Neither Of the men spoke for som
minutes. When Merry turned, Went
worth lay staring at him with a pray
er for pity, comprehension, and fol
giveness in his eyes.
Il want you to understand on
thing" pleaded the older man. "Whe
you called my bluff hat morning an
| wrote that bond, / was innocent c
any thought of injury to you. | don
know what was in my mind. It wa
nothing in the world but an idle fame,
/ told you SO at the time. l did nc
dream that you could write a play.
anyone had told me you were capabl
of turning out The House of Este
brook ! should have laughed at hin
Then that day, when you came an
read the manuscript had just give
up all hope, as | did with the cratic
on Caesar. l had been toiling fl
years and years on a play. Thel
was one--it had seemed to me like
great plot-but had begun to realiz
that labor does not mean everythin
You want inspiration, or genius or a
Or something, and | didn't have it
Enoch paused. wrinkling his eyes {
if in an attempt to remember som