The Elbert County tribune., 1915-01-15
CHAPTER XVII. .
The Irony Of Fate.

Win quiet lnsl5teuce, ndu continued
the demand that he break away, go
home. and begin work on another play
Business can be carried along with
out you,' was his daily. assurance
1.-The House OF Esterbrook Is good
for another season. perhaps for more
than one. and we ought to look ahead.
am asked every day II you are writ
ing another play. You ought to strike
| while the iron is hot The luck we
are having should be an inspiration to
you
The Waverly Place house was per
fectly still. Enoch seated himself be-
fore the desk, cleared off the blotter,
laid out a heap of copy paper, filled
the ink-weli, and adjusted a new pen.
He leaned his head upon his hand
for few minutes, and his listfess
| eyes fell upon a calendar. He dis
covered that 1t bore the dates of
March instead OF April. He tore off
| the record of weeks which had passed
and dropped it into the waste basket.
The pen rested listlessly between his
fingers. When he tried to write with
1t the ink had dried He did not dip
it in the bottle again A trail of sleep
less days and nights lay behind him
he felt as II his brain had drowsed
at its post.
| He picked up rubber band, twisted
1t about his fingers. then pulled 1t
thin till 1t suddenly snapped in two.
He shook himself as II a strenuous
effort to wake up. For days he had
| hof La
virile plot for play. He tramped the
streets to do his thinking and planned
the scenario from beginning to end.
The night before he had locked him
self In his office at the Gotham and
| in frenzy OF haste shaped out each
scene on his typewriter
The manuscript lay at his elbow.
He read 1t through. Suddenly he re-
allied that the stuff fell short, of
| what he could not decide. 1t lacked
reality. He compared it with Merry's
drama. The story in that rose up out
of the paper. each character living.
breathing man or woman. This story
was dead. absolutely dead. He lifted
the sheets and deliberately tore them
across. gritting his teeth while the
paper tipped, as a man does when he
is in pain.
He picked up letter which lay be-
side him on the desk. 1t was ad-
dressed In Merry's irregular writing.
There was nothing inside the envelope
but check for an amount In five
figures. Wentworth glanced at 1t, then
tore it across. He had sent the check
| tn the actor without @ word. tt ropro.
sented the entire royalties on the
House Of Esterbrook." The mail
brought it back to him as 1t had gone.
A small clock licked out the time on
top OF the desk. He remembered 1t
was Christmas gift from Merry The
| ceaseleBs round of its secondhand fas-
cinated him.
1T would be great II one could work
as that ridiculous needle does" he
| thought 1T Is such a lifelike thing.
1t goes on with regularity that
feazes a man. never pausing day or
night. never dropping out or baking
as we humans do when the brain goes
numb l wonder" Enoch loafed back
in his chair, Il wonder If it is too late
to come back. 1t does not seem pos
sible that a man could undergo a ply
sical change in few months while he
is still hale and hearty. They say such
a thing does come. though--Quick as
scat, when your arteries harden. or
something of that sort happens. I'm
forty-two. A man isn't old at forty
two. and yeti feel old today. sup
pose" he stared steadily at the face
| Nf no AlA nn l..
man countenance Il suppose this Is
part of the scheme they call retribu-
tion"
He uttered the last word In an un-
dertone as If some one were within
hearing. There had been moments
especially in the dead of night-when
he had longed to lay bare his soul to
father confessor. The conscience
which had slept for months awoke
and was raging at him like demon.
He sat silent, going over his life step
| by step from the day when he was
confronted by temptation and fell.
Dorcas had branded him as a thief
Still she had kept her word and never
again questioned the authorship of the
play. Her accusation left welt in
his soul like stroke from the thin
end of whip. 1t was welt which
had not healed He knew she had
spoken the truth. He dropped his
head upon his arms. 1t was years
since he had said prayer. He had
forgotten the form that prayer takes.
Cod" he murmured. 'if there Is
any way for me to come back-and
begin again--show me that way"
He did not raise his head: In an
apathy he was listening curiously to
ccmmotion in the lower part of the
house. From a wrangle of voices in
the hall rose the clear tones of a
woman.- He iumned to his feet. wit h