Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1918-05-03
| The FIRE OF GENIUS
BY LEE VERNON HAMMOND. /


Copyright, 1917, Western Newspaper Union }
The winding stretch of roadway IN
Millville known as the Circle contained
four homes, the diversity of which
made that residential presentation err
ratio and incongruous. Fully one-half
of the six hundred feet frontage was
taken up by the home of Robert Ed
son, wealthy retired business man,
who lived entirely to himself, had come
from the city to settle down in bache-
Tor solitude, but luxury, who made fire.
quent long pleasure tours and was
therefore very little at home.
I Next to it was the modest home of
Will Blake, who was grizzled assist
ant in the local bank, and with whom
a younger brother, Nelson Blake, lived.
Adjoining that was the mere shell of
a small cottage occupied as lessee
by young widow, Mrs. Eunice
Woods, and her two-year-old boy, a
bright, precociOus youngster popularity
nicknamed Buster.
1t is with Nelson Blake that we have
to do, and never was there a more low
able fellow. He was twenty-five,
sturdy and erect, but only of late
years. From ten to twenty he had
been a weakling, and that period had
compelled a sedentary life devoid of
play and companionship. Then slowly
he had outgrown his physical ailments,
but ambition and effort had expert
enced a setback. He accepted posi-
ton as night Waterman at manufac-
turing plant and now had held it for
three years.
s'Why don't you try something bet
ter?'' his sister-in-law had often asked
him.
9'Tell you, MARTHA" he would reply,
"as you know, I have an idea there is
some kind Of a place for me in litera-
ture."
But suddenly a new element of in
SEPARATION came into his life. The du-
ties of Nelson at the plant comprised
his taking comfortable seat near the
burglar alarm, and making only two
rounds OF the place during the hours
of dark.
Little Buster had been always a IA
vorite with him. How far his pretty
mother was one, too, Nelson never al
lowed himself to think. Nelson's in
terest in mother and child, however,
led to his practically adopting little
Buster. at must be quite a hindrance
and care for you to have the dear little
fellow on your hands at the places
where you go out seWing,' he remarked
to Mrs. Woods, one day.
1T is a double burden in way,
yes" she admitted.
1--WE a suggestion to make" ven
tured Nelson. You know I have the
whole day to myself. All I do is a lit
tie writing. Our garden is shady and
roomy and pleasant. Buster makes a
capital chum. He likes me and I like
him and we always get on famously
together. Let me relieve you of his
responsibility while you are compelled
to be away from home"
The arrangement was made and it
had a due reward in store for the ac-
commodating Nelson. Little Buster
would troop after him and join him in
the rustic bower and play at his side.
One day Nelson was reading over
aloud one of the little Skits he had
composed when he CHANGED to observe
Buster.
"Fi-yah!" he babbled, when Nelson
was reading off a fire episode in his
story. 10000! Make sparks - and he
acted forth terror and shuddering.
And on another occasion, when Nell
son read of a weeping lady and her
sorrows, little Buster drew down his
expressive face. sPoor lady KY" he
mourned. snake tears come s'more-"
So time drifted on pleasantly for
author and audience, until in one week
the latter had three stories returned
from as many publishers. Somehow
the occurrence greatly dampened aspi-
ration and hope. Nelson made trag-
ic resolve. He gathered all his manu-
scripts together and carried them into
the garden to a CRASHES spot near the
fence of his rich neighbor at the right.
He placed them on the ground.
'Last story, Buster - he told his lit
tie companion. 'I'm going to read it.
Then we will set fire to the heap and I
am going to forget all about writing,
and go to the city and try to earn a
living
He read his latest effort, sweet,
pathetic little tale, heartsome and
wholesome. He added the serial to the
pile and struck a match.
"Hold on!" sounded forth a manda-
tory voice, and looking up Nelson con-
fronted rich Mr.. Edison on the other
side of the lot line fence. "You needn't
burn those stories Of yours. I'll give
you one hundred dollars apiece for
them. I'm a whimsical fellow, as you
well know, and can afford expensive
fancies. There's merit in that screed
you just read. You've got the writing
bug, and I believe if you can broaden