The Tupelo journal., 1917-10-05
fer. Debut


rather elaborate dinner Quavers
and Oliver. Quavers, the composer,
was the fashion; though not ten years
before he had been trotting about in
soieu boots, and recherche little din
nefs' such as the one he had just eat
en-, We're not at all in his line. His
host, Sir John Oliver, known to
MS friends and acquaintance as
"Coaiy,' only three-and-twenty, was
the son and heir of a great coal mine
proprietor, Mathew Oliver, who had
obtained his honors not because he
went to bed drunk every night Of his
llfe' nor because he had risen from
nothing by an extraordinary COM
bination of brute strength and force
OF character, but because he had been
all his life born leader of men.
There was nothing of the rough,
though, in young st. John. "And Mat"
had given him the best education to
be had for money he had inherited his
fathers magnificent constitution; he
dressed like gentleman and he looked
like gentleman; and he had be-
come his own waster and patron Of
the drama-that sort of young man
can be of much use to music and
the drama. "Quite the right sort of
chap to have at your back, you
know" as Mr.. Vampire Trappe, the
manager, had observed to old Mr.. Steel,
the dramatic author.
Wei, Oliver, what do you want
to get out of me? Out with it; come
to the point at once. Your dinner was
a good dinner"
"Oh, hang It, Quavers. you know"
Don't beat about the bush, my boy !;
diplomacy is wasted on chap like me.
You want something, of course. I
hope you haven't been writing a .senti-
mental song and are wanting me to set
it?'
"Oh, it is not so bad as that" re-
piled the young fellow with a blush,
though it is sentimental matter. IT.
is about someone take an interest in
Don't" said Quavers; its just the
one thing / never will do; know what
you want; it's the old story. You've
been got hold of, Oliver. She thinks
she can sing or she thinks she can act,
and she has told you to try and work
me, and l am to pitchfork her into
something good, and money is no OBJ
ject, and you'll come down handsome
ly. know, know but it won't wash,
my boy-you've come to the wrong
shop"
you needn't sulk," said the young
fellow; Il wanted to speak to you
about Lalage Broughton."
The eyes of Mr.. Quavers twinkled
with suppressed amusement, and he
chuckied audibfy. "Oh, little Lally
Broughton." he said; "what has she
done? Been making an ass of your
self, and want your letters back, eh?"
1T isn't exactly that" replied young
Oliver; 81 wish / had been making a
fool of myself, and if had" he add
ed, with sigh, 81 shouldn't want my
letters back-there, Quavers."
"Oh, its as bad as that, is. it?' said
Mr.. Quavers. Pour lie bon motif, Ell?
Good gracious! King Cophetua and
the Beggar-Maid, and all that sort Of
thing. Consult doctor, my boy
chap who practices in lunacy, if pos
sible.''
"Quavers !" cried the young man, ex-
citedly, Il want you to introduce me
to her. I-I-hang it, man! I wor-
ship the very ground she walks on,
and I've sent bouquets and floral ban
joes, and have sat in the same seat
all through the long run of that new
comic opera of yours, and every night
I've tossed floral tribute of some
sort or other at her feet; and every
night, Quavers, she has bowed and
smiled at me-until last week, and then
was ass enough to put ring and a
note among the flowers, and the next
day / got EN- back in registered let
ter and now she just pushes my flow
ers aside with her foot"
"Of course she does: perhaps she
expected bracelet, and thought you
mean.''
1T isn't that Quavers. said the young
man; "she's not that sort. | made in
squiries; it was mean thing to do,
but did. And want you to intro
duce me to her, Quavers, for I know
you're pal of hers. And then, per-
haps, she'd forgive me. / swear to
YOU
3You needn't, dear boy; you've evil
IDENTITY got it very badly, and I'll oblige