The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1914-02-21
there Is a fire.''

l where there Is a fire"
 ssDelighted," cried the old man. GA fire. long to see one Let us go to your room by all means
 MT. Bland sulkily stalked to his mat tress and secured a gayIy colored bed quilt, which he wound about his thin form.
 ssThis is positively the last experience meeting I attend t6night," he growled-
 They ascended to No. T. The pro- lessor removed, along with other i'm pedimenta, his ear tabs, which were connected by rubber cord He waved them like frisky detached ears before him.
 "An old mans weakness he re- marked. 4eFoolish they may seem to you. But assure you I found them useful companions in climbing Bald pate mountain at this hour.
 ssBut I am not here to apologize for my apparel, am I? Hardly You are saying to yourselves Why is he hereY Yes, that is the question that disturbs you. What has brought this domes- ticated college professor scampering from the Pagan renaissance to Bald pate inn? For answer, I must ask you to go back with me a weeks time, and gaze at 8 picture from the rather dreary academic kaleidoscope that is my life
 "I am seated back of a desk on platform in a bare yellow room. In front of me, tier on tier, sit hundred young men in various attitudes of in- attention am trying to tell them som ething of the ideal poetry that marked the rebirth of the Saxon gen. ius They are bored. I-wel1, gentle men, in confidence, even the mind of college professor has been known to wander at times from the subject in. hand. And then-I begin to read a poem-a poem descriptive of a woman dead 800 years and more. Ah, gentle mem
 He sat erect on the edge of his great chair. Back of the thick lenses of his spectac1es he had eyes that still could flash.
 AThis is not an era of romance" ]" he said. "Our people grub in the dirt for the dollar. Their visions perish. Their souls grow stale. Yet now and then. at most inopportune times, comes the flash that reveals to us the glories that might be-
 Mr Bland wrapped his gay quilt more securely about him. MT. Magee smiled encouragement on the newest raconteur.
 eI shall be brief" continued PrOfes- sor Bolton. Heaven knows that ped agogic room was no place for visions, nor were those athletic young men fit companions for soul gone giddy- Yet II lost my head. As l read on there returned to my heart glow had not known in forty years. The bard spoke Of her hair:
 Her yellow locks, crisped like golden wyre. 1rArae. And I saw, as in a dream-ahem, can trust you, gentlemen-a girl supposed I had forever forgotten in the mold and dust of my later years. I will not | go further into the matter. My wifess. 1 hair is black.
 "And reading on, but losing the thread of the poets eulogy in the gold en fabric of my resurrected dream, it came to me to compare that maid i knew in the long. ago with the women I know today. Ah, gentlemenl Lips made but for smiling fling weighty ar l guments on the unoffending atmes- l phere. Eyes made to light with that 1 light that never was by land or sea, blaze instead with what they call the injustice of woman's servttude. White ] hands made to find their way to the hands of some young man in the moon light carry banners in the dusty streets. It seemed saw the blue eyes of that l girl of long ago turned, sad, rebukings on her sisters of today. As I finished l reading my heart was awhirl. I said ] to the young men before me:
 "sThere was woman, gentlemen-a woman worth million suffragettes.'
 ssThey applauded. The fire in me died down. Soon was my old meek, academic self. The vision had left no trace. I dismissed my class and went | home T found that my wife-she of the black hair-had left my slippers by the library fire. I put them on and plunged into 8 pamphlet lately pub lished by distinguished member of a 1 German university faculty. I thought the incident closed forever 1 He gazed sorrowfully at the two young men.
 'sBut, gentlemen, I had not counted | on that viper that we nourish in our
 bosom-the American newspaper. At
 present I will not take time to de | nounce the press I am pfeparing an | article on the subject for a respectable
 weekly of select circulation. Suffice it l to record what happeneds The next
 day an evening paper appeared with a
 huge picture of me on it's front page and the hideous statement that this l was the Professor Bolton who had said
 that One peroxide blond is worth a
 million suffra gettes.'
 "Yes, that was the dreadful version Of
 my remark that was spread broadcast. 1 Up to the time that story appeared
 had no idea as to what sort of creature 1 the peroxide blond might be. l pro-
 tested, of course. I might as well have l tried to dam tidal wave with ta bIe
 fork The wrath of the world swept
 down upon me. I was deluged with teIegrams, editorials, letters, denounc-
 ing me Firm faced females lay in
 wait for me and waved umbrellas ih mn oras EIverl my wife turned from