The Idaho Springs siftings-news., 1915-01-09
CHAPTER XVIII.

The Irony Of Este.
Wentworth locked himself In the H.
brary one Saturday morning. Oswald,
with quiet insistence. had continued
the demand that he break away, go
home, and bsgin work on another play
Business can b carried along with
out you." was his daily assurance.
The House Of Esterbrook' II 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 II hot. The luck we
are having should b an inspiration to
you"
The Waverly Piace house was per
fectly still. Enoch seated himself be-
fore the desk. cleared on the blotter
laid out q heap OF copy paper. filled
the ink-well. and adjusted . new pen.
He leaned his head upon his hand
for few minutes. and his listless
eyes fell upon q calendar. He dis
covered that II bore the dates OF
March instead OF April. He tore on
the record OF weeks which had passed
and dropped it into the waste basket
The pen rested hstlessly between his
fingers. When he tried to write with
1t the ink had dried. He did not dip
1t In the bottle again A trail OF sleep
less days and nights lay behind him
-he felt ~ II his brain had drowsed
At Its post
He picked up = rubber band, twisted
1t about his fingers, then pulled 1t
thin till it suddenly snapped in two.
He shook himself as II . strenuous
effort to wake up. For days he had
been evolving what seemed like a
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 once At the Gotham and
in frenzy OF haste shaped out each
scene on his typewriter.
The manuscript lay at his elbow.
He read It through. Suddenly he re-
allied that the stun fell short, Of
what he could not decide. II lacked
reality. He compared it with Merry's
drama The story in that rose up out
OF the paper. each character q living.
breathing man or woman. This story
was dead. absolutely dead. He lifted
the sheets and deliberately tore them
paper zipped. as q man does when he
is in pain.
He picked up a 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 4 check for an amount in nve
figures. Wentworth glanced at it. then
tore IT across. He had sent the check
to the actor without a word: 1t repre-
sented the entire royalties on the
House OF Esterbrook." The mail
brought it back to him as It had gone.
A small clock ticked out the time on
top of the desk. He remembered 1t
was . Christmas gift from Merry. The
ceaseless round of its second hand fas-
cinated him.
1T would be great II one could work
as that ridiculous needle does he
thought. 1t is such q lifelike thing.
1t goes on with regularity that
feaZes a man. never pausing day or
hieut. ACsCi Aioppihb ouS vi OdlhAh8
as we humans do when the brain goes
numb. | wonder" Enoch loafed back
In his chair, Il wonder II it Is too late
to come back. 1t does not seem pos
sible that man could undergo a ply
sical change in few months while he
is still hale and hearty. They say such
thing does come, though-quick as
scat. when your arteries harden. or
something of that sort happens. I'm
fortytwo. man isn't old at forty
two. and yeti feel old today | sup
pose" he stared steadily at the face
OF the little clock as If it were hu-
man countenance. Il suppose this is
part of the scheme they call retribu-
ton
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 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 a whip. 1t was a 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 a prayer He had
forgotten the form that prayer takes.
God" he murmured. "if there Ia
any way for me to come back-and
begin again-show me that way"
He did not raise his head: in an