The Washington herald., 1914-02-08
Copyright, lsll)
Copyright. lslL)
Il ER. CALHOUN KIDD was a
M very young gentleman with a
4VA verv old face-a face dried I'D

blue-black hair and black butterfly
tie. He was the emissary in England
of the colossal American daily called
the Western Sun-also humorously de-
scribed as the Rising Sunset.
The Western Sun was full OF the
most solemn matters treated in the
most farcical way. William James fg-
ured there as well as weary Willie,
and pragmatists alternated with pugi-
lists in the long procession of its por-
traits.
Thus, wher a very unobtrusive Ok
ford man named John Boulnois wrote,
in a very unreliable review called
The Natural Philosophy Quarterly,
series of articles on alleged weak points
in Darwinian evolution, If fiuttered no
corner of the English papers; though
Boulnois' theory had some rather faddy
fashionableness at Oxford, and got so
far as TO be named "Catastrophism."
But many American papers seized on
the challenge as a great event; and the
Western Sun threw the shadow OF Mr..
Boulnois quite gigantically across its
pages. Articles of honest intelligence
and enthusiasm were presented with
headlines apparently written BY an IL
literate maniac-headlines such as:
Darwin Chews Dirt; Critic Boulnois
SAYS He Jumps the Shocks" or,
Keep Catastrophe, Says Thinker
Boulnois." And Mr.. Calhoun Kidd, of
the Western Sun, was hidden to take
his butterfly tie and lugubrious visage
down to the little house outside Oxford
where Thinker Boulnois lived in
happy ignorance of such title.
That fated philosopher had consented,
in a somewhat dazed manner, 70 receive
\ the interviewer, and had named the
hour of nine that evening. The last of
summer sunset chung about Cumnor
and the low wooded hills; the romantic
Yankee was both doubtful of his road
and inquisitive about his surroundings;
and, seeing the door of a genuine feu-
dal old-country inn, the Champion
Arms, standing open, he went in to
make inquiries.
In the bar parlor, he rang the bell,
and had to wait some little time for
reply to it. The only other person
present was lean man with close red
hair and loose, horsey-looking clothes,
who was drinking very bad whisky,
but smoking a very good cigar. The
whisky, of course, was the choice brand
of the Champion Arms; the cigar he
had probably brought with him from
London. Nothing could be more diff
ferent than his cynical neglige from
the dapper dryness of the young Amer
lean; but something in his pencil and
open notebook, and perhaps in the eN-
preston of his alert blue eyes, caused
Kidd to guess, correctly, that he was
a brother journalist.
Gould you do me the favor" asked
Kidd, with the courtesy of his nation,
"of directing me to the Grey Cottage,
where Mr.. Boulnois lives, as / under
stand?"
ITS a few yards down the road"
said the redhaired man, removing his
cigar. q shall be passing it myself in
minute, but Pm going on to Pendra-
gon Park to try and see the fun
What is Pendragon Park?" asked
Calhoun Kidd.
"Sir Claude Champions place
haven't you come down for that, too?"
asked the other man, looking up
"You're a journalist, aren't your
q have come to see Mr.. Boulnois,"
said Kidd.
1--WE come to see Mrs. Boulnois, re-
piled the other. But shant catch
her at home" And he laughed rather
unpleasantly.
Are you interested in Catastro-
phism?" asked the wondering Yankee.
"rm interested in catastrophies; and
there are going to be some" replied his
companion gloomily. Mines a filthy
trade; and I never pretend it isn't"
With that he spat on the floor; yet,
somehow, in the very act and instant
bne could realize that the man had been
brought up as gentleman.
The American considered him with
more attention. His face was pale and
dissipated, with the promise of formid-
able passions yet to be loosed; but it
was clever and sensitive face. His
clothes were coarse and careless, but
he had a good seal ring on one of his
long, thin fingers. His name, which
came out in the course of talk, was
James Dalroy; he was the son of a
bankrupt Irish landlord, and attached
10 pink paper, which he heartily de-
spised, called Smart Society, in the ca
pacity of reporter and of something
painfully like spy
Smart Society. / regret to say, felt
none of that interest in Boulnois on
Darwin that was such credit to the
heads and hearts of the Western Sun.
Dalroy had come down, it seemed, to
Al - t. Il