The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1916-12-18
ssDAWN O'HARA''
BY Edna Ferbe Copyright by the Paget Newspaper Service
NEXT WEEK "CHRISTMAS CAROL" BY CHARLES DICKENS

4 ress of his voice, or the magnetism
of his strange, smoldering eyes
glowing across the smoke-dimmed
city room as | had felt them fixed
on me. No one had ever known
what he had meant to the girl OF
twenty, with her brain full of I'M
spoken dreams-dreams which
we're all to become glorious real
tiles in that wonder-place, New
| York.
How he had fired my country
girl imagination! He had been the
most brilliant writer on the big
brilliant shetland the most dis
solute. How my heart had pound
ed on that first lonely day when
this Wonder-Being looked up from
his desk, saw me, and strolled
over to where sat before my type
writer. He smiled down at me-
companionably.
MY names Orme," he said
/ gravely. Peter Orme. And il
yours isn't Shaughnessy or Burke,
at least. then I'm no judge of what
black hair and gray eyes stand
| for"
"Then you're not" retorted I.
laughing up at him, "for it hap
pens to be O'Hara-Dawn O'Hara,
if We Place"
Dawn O'Hara," said he slowly
Dawn O'Hara. II sounds like a
rosa pink blush rose that is
deeper pink at its heart, and very
sweet"
Then he turned and walked
away. That had been the begin
ming of 1t all.
He had what we Irish call "a
way wild him." Never was girl
so dazzled, so humbled, so wor-
shipped, so neglected, so courted
He was creature of a thousand
moods to torture one.
He wrote like a modern De-
mesthenes, with all political New
York to culver under his philip
pics. The managing editor used to
send him out on wonderful as
signments, and they used to hold
the paper for his stuff when II
was late. Sometimes he would be
gone for days at a time, and when
he returned the men would look
at him with a sort of admiring
awe.
Well, We were married. Love
cast a glamour over his very
vices. His love of drink? A weak
ness which | would transform into
strength. His white hot flashes
of uncomfortable temper? Surely
they would die down at my cool
tender touch. His fits Of abstrac-
ton and irritability? Mere evi.
dences of the genius within. Oh
my worshiping soul was always
alert with an excuse.
| And SO we were married. He
had quite tired OF me in less than
a year, and the fits of abstraction
and temper could be counted upon
to appear oftener than any other
moods.
His work began to show slip
shod in spots. They talked to him
about 1t and he laughed at them
Then. one day, he left them in the
ditch and the whole town scooped
him, and the managing editor told
/, him that he must go. His lapsea
had become too frequent. They
would have to replace him with a
man not SO brilliant, perhaps, but
more reliable.
/ daren't think of his face as II
looked when he came home to the
little apartment and told me.
stared at him in horror. He strobe
over to me, clasped his fingers
about my throat and shook me as
dog shakes q mouse.
why don't you cry. eh?" he
snarled. why don't you cry?"
And then I did cry out at what
I saw in his eyes. I wrenched my
self free, fled to my room, and
locked the door and stood against
' Il with my hand pressed over my
heart until I heard the outer door