The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1919-02-04
EVENING STORY
Trapping a Poet.
BY IZOLA FORESTER.

=
sister,
Jess lifted laughing lips to the SER
ious face before her., 1t was a. m.
Frances had just stepped to the door
of their mountain shack for the bottle
of cream left at dawn by shandy
Cone, the village milkman. and had
discovered likewise a foldel slip OF
paper under the door.
Poetry il was Enthusiastically, and
with purpose and intent in its hidden
message:
Long, languid eyes of hazel hue.
Shall life lose joy because Of you?
Shall all I dreamt Of hoped O.. OF aie'
Dependent on cOinpasslons sign
"Oh, isn't that quaint and mid-Vic-
torian ?" exclaimed Jess. Its the tall.
thin, pale young man at Mrs. McCur-
dys S, France. Have you been secretly
leading his young affections astray
and not told your big sister WORD
about it?
IT don't even know him to speak
tot" Frances answered Indignantly.
81 don't like his poetry, 1t SOUNDS
like valentine verses.
She tucked it on the shelf behind
the clock and wondered IL possibly
Shandy had burst forth into poesy,
but within week another verse lay
on the threshold. as Jess put 1t, and
little more so than the first:
II send my mate-cal ringing far.
Thru springtime woods where songbirds
And listen long your voice. to hear,
Canst find no answer for me, dear:'
Now, that is worthy of Sir Philip
| Sidney" Jess said judiciousiy. 1t has
| a true lyric touch. Greenwood tree,
shepherd calling in the distance, etc
| France, you are a hard hearted
| and beni~hted maiden if you refuse
to whistle batk to liim.'
| But Frances held to her own opin-
ion, and when she had occasion to pass
Hart Wade on the road down the
\ mountain she merely lifted her chin
| higher, and let him understand his
poetry had not registered.
Not that he appeared to mind her
! attitude, she had to admit. He was
I pleasant, rather plain young man, who
| had boarded at Mrs. McCurdy's farm
| for the fall and winter painting scenes
| of mountain snow and keeping to
| himself Mac had told them he was
an artist one day when he had brought
them down a load of f1relogs from h s
woodlot.
the point and =comradely. They had
known him ever since they had come
i to Red Indian for Jess health, and he
| had been a stanch friend and neigh
Dor. Now and then he ran down to
New York for few weeks, but he al
ways came back with a fresh load of
new books and magazines, and shared
them royalty. He was rather broad
Shouldered and stocky in build, with
burly reddish hair. and blue eyes that
! had a habit of twinkling when he did
not feel like spea king.
Frances had liked him because she
4 could talk freely to him. Nearly all
men expected you to either fall in
love with them, she had decided, or
4 to respect them. But Mac understood
everything. They had gone on long
i tramps together thru tile mountain
roads, and when thessnow had fairly
drifted over their little shack it had
been Mac who came down and SHOW
eled them out, and brought food from
his own store to them.
i So she felt now she could speak to
i him about the poetry, and get a sem
sible. unbiased opinion ona what she
ought to do.
I 1.-THE main question is Mac said as
soon as he heard about it, KS whether
it is good poetry"
1T seems very sincere" Frances
admitted, not realizing what a delight
fully comforting picture. she made in
her brown cloak and fur cap against
the masses of crisp fleather-tinted oak
} leaves drying on the trees and the
: deep green of pines beyond. 81 won
der if it is meant for me or for Jess.
Her eyes are blue, aren't they? ]
never noticed yours exactly
, 'Oh, mine are rather changeabl
hazel and gray and green. Cats eyes
She turned them on him gravely. DC
you think it is Shandy?"
, Mac chuckle /.
Cant tell. Poetry's liable to break
out anywhere just like measles
| Frances pondered a few minutes
then said.
"I know what I'll do. Mac. Hs
leaves them on Fridays, I've fount
out I'm going to watch and see wht
it IS. Or, no, that wouldn't do. Yol
get up early don't you? Suppose
watch until -. then you get up at /
, and watch, will you?''
Mac agreed it would be great plan
only he was certain not even a poe
would brave the trip up the mountain
at in February to slip poetry under
the door. 1t must have been left il
, the evening, but he would watch OIL
following Friday.
Frances did not tell her sister. Jes
had a way of laughing at serious
things, but she knew when Mac cam,
on guard, for she caught a glimps'
of him in the bright moonlight. stand
ing like a sentinel over in the SHADOW
of the pines by the roadway. He wa
ready to whistle sharplyslike an owl t.
give the alarm. and Frances waited il
the shack long after Jess was SCUM,
asleep. Finally it came, a little be
fore II, one long tremulous whistle
, She slipped her-fur cloak around he
and stepped out anxiously. No\ on
, was in sight, and there were no fresl
: footprints on the stone doorstep, blu
; | Mac waited for her.
t.Did-did he Gomez she wills
| pered, when she had stolen over t
. him, and Mac assured her he had
But he's gone" she exclaimed, IAN
didn't leave any poetry this time. Di
= you see him really, Mace"
II Mac drew deep breath of resolu
ton, and faced her, his hands deep i
1 his mackinaw pockets.
III I saw him. and 1 know him wei
| Frances. He's the darndest coward an
chump around here. He hasn't &C
) nerve enough to up and tell you t