The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1914-09-24

Of children on the sidewalk. He had
not known a moment of peace or soil
tude for months. All his life he had
scoffed at nerves az q delusion. lie
wondered If he had been wrong,
whether nerves might not be stern
reality. If they were, he had them.
His mind went flashing over the events
of the past fortnight, since the night,
when, weary, harassed, and hopeless,
he returned from Montreal to be met
by Dorcas with the news that Merry
had returned and was ready to begin
rehearsals. 1t still exasperated him
when he remembered how stubbornly
she had refused details Of Andrews
homecoming. All he learned was that
the actor had seen Oswald and was re-
hearsing from morning till night.
A few days later, in the foyer OF the
Gotham, when he came face to face
with Merry, the plan Of their future
intercourse was determined instantly
Wentworth had been In a mood to
welcome reconciliation and friend
ship; Andrew was cold, courteous. and
singularly unapproachable. Enoch's
warmth was chilled and his pride
aroused. He plunged fiercely into
work, scarcely snatching time to eat
or sleep. More than once Oswald had
demonstrated; he could see that the
man was working beyond the limit OF
human capacity. Work was the only
thing that would whip retrospection
from his mind. Drink had never been
temptation to Wentworth-it was
nothing but a side issue to sociability
so he did rot take to it now. He
realized he was losing old friends; he
had tossed one of them aside today.
The intuition which is bred by a
guilty conscience began to play strange
FRANKS with him. He felt as if o.
valid had guessed his secret and was
driving him into corner by the sug.
gestion that he remodel the play. He
saw Dorcas each day grow colder and
more suspicious. Merry at one glance
had thrust him outside the pale of &C.
ouaintanceship. Within ten days
"The House of Esterbrook" would have
It's first production.
Enoch shivered with apprehension
as he thought of it. A queer thing had
loomed up in his mind during the past
few days. A decade ago club friend
with a fad for palmistry had insisted
on reading his hand. The man prophe.
sled physical and moral downfall In
the course of IL years. Wentworth
laughed at the idea, forgot it com
pletely, then one night the memory OF
it came to him like shot. He would
have given all he possessed to return
to the morning when Merry burst in
upon him full of gaiety and hope. He
could not go back; it was like un
snarling a tangle Of string when one
found no visible end where the task
could be commenced.
He was aroused by a clatter oil
dishes. The waiter set the breakfast
before him. AS he ate he laid a morn
ing paper on the table and began tc
read; there had been no chance earlier
in the day to glance at it. The first
thing his eye fell upon was column
about 1.-THE House of Esterbrook.'
The public seemed to await the pro
duction with unusual anticipation
Merry had the enthusiastic following
which is so often bestowed upon an
cratic, lovable genius. Wentworth
fame as journalist was of long stand
ing, and Oswald, Englishman as he
was, had already won friends among
newspaper men. Wentworth read il
quickly, then he turned to the news oil
the day. Nothing interested him-the
sparkle had gone out of life as the
bead dies On champagne. He drank a
second, then third cup of strong cot
fee, which acted upon him as whisky
does on some men.
When he climbed the uneven steps
of the sidewalk the world had grown
SUMMER; there was a future before
him, fame, riches, and the applause oil
millions. He reached Third avenue
ran up the stairs to the elevated. and
putting slowly at cigar, gazed on the
rush Of life below. He was deliberat
ing how 1t was best to approach Merry
on the subject OF changing that second
act. Oswald was a keen critic, and
| Enoch had seen the necessity of 1t him