Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1914-02-13

go up to my room, where there's a
fire."
Delighted" cried the old man. "A
fire. long to see one. Let us go to
your room by all means"
your room by all means.
Mr.. Bland sulkily stalked to his
mattress and secured gayly colored
bedquilt, which he wound about his
form.
This is positively the last expert
ence meeting I attend tonight" he
growled.
They ascended to No. Z. The profess
sor removed. along with other i'm
pedimanta. his ear tabs. which were
connected by a rubber cord. He wav-
ed them like frisky detached ears be-
fore him.
IAN old mans weakness" he re-
marked. Foolish they may seem to
you. But l assure you I found them
useful companions in climbing Bald
pate mountain at this hour.
But I am not here to apolozie for
my apparel. am L? Hardly. You are
saying to yourselves. Why is he here|
Yes, that is the question that disturbs
you. What has brought this domes-
ticated college professor scrambling
from the Pagan renaissance to Bald
pate inn? For answer, / must ask
you to go back with me weeks time
and gaze at the picture from the
rather dreary academic kaleidoscope
that is my life.
1 am seated back of a desk on a
platform in a bare yellow room. In
front Of me, tire on tire, sit hundred
young men in various attitudes Of in
attention. 1 am trying to tell them
something Of the ideal poetry hat
marked the rebirth of the Saxon gen.
ius. They are bored. well, gentle
men. in confidence, even the mind of
college professor has been known to
wander at times from the subject in
hand And them begin to read
poem-a poem descriptive Of wo-
man dead 600 years and more. All,
gentlemen''- 49,.
He sat erect on the edge of his
great chair. Back of the thick lines Of
his spectacles he had eyes that still
could flash.
This 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. Mr.. Magee
smiled encouragement on the newest
raconteur.
"I shall be brief" continued Prof.
Bolton. Heaven knows that ped
agogic room was no place for visions,
nor were these athletic young men fit
companions for soul gone giddy. Yet
i lost my head. AS read on there
returned to my heart glow l had not
known in forty years. The bard spoke
of her hair:
Her yellow locks, crisped like golden
wyre.
About her shoulders were loosely
shed.
And l saw, as in a dream-ahem,
can trust you. gentlemen-a girl
supposed / had forever forgotten in
the mold and dust of my later years.
l will not go further into the matter.
My wife's hair is black.
And reading on. but losing the
thread Of the poets eulogy in the
golden fabric of my resurrected
dream, it came TO me to compare that
maid l knew in the long ago with the
woman l know today. All, gentle
men! Lips made but for smiling
| fling weighty arguments on the unof-
Tending atmosphere. Eyes made to
| light with that light that never was
kby land or sea, blaze instead with
what they call the injustice of wo-
mans servitude. White hands made
to find their way to the hands of some
young man in the moonlight, carry
banners in the dusty streets. 1t
seemed l saw the blue eyes of that
girl of long ago turned, sad, rebuk-
ing. on her sisters of today. AS /
finished reading my heart was awhirl.
/ said to the young men before me:
There was a woman, gentlemen
woman worth a million suffragettes.'
: They applauded. The fire in me
died down. Soon l was my old meek,
academic self. The vision had left no
ltrace. / dismissed my class and
went home. l found that my wife
she of the black hair-had left my
slippers by the library fire. l put
them on and plunged into pamphlet
lately published by distinguished
member of a German university facul-
| ty. l thought the incident closed
forever"
He gazed sorrowfully at the two
young men.
But, gentlemen, | had not counted
on the viper that we nourish in our
bosom-the American newspaper. At
present l will not take time to de-
nounce the press. l am preparing an
article on the subject for respectable
weekly of select circulation. Suffice
it to record what happened. The next
day an evening paper appeared with
huge picture of me on its front page
and the hideous statement that this
was the Professor Bolton who had
said that One peroxide blond is worth
million suffragettes.
Yes, that was the dreadful vision
| of my remark that was spread broad
cast Up to the time that story ap-
peared l had no idea as to what sort
of creature the peroxide blond might
be. l protested, Of course. l might as
we'll have tried to dam tidal wave
with a table fork. The wrath Of the
world swept down upon me. l was
deluged with kilograms, editorials.