Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1920-08-18

10y what right 90 1 loaf at ease,
while she tolls like q galley slave? p
The question came to haunt him
and obsess, him. Late one night, as
he sat smoking in his study, he wrote
in his diary:
What sort of n creature am I,
anyhow? A man, or worthless
drone? There's Sylvia working hard
enough for thee, while | AM idling
on my fathers allowance. It's n
shame! But-what shall l do about
it?"
He leaned back, drew at his pipe,
had ever puzzled him as this puzzled
him. Frankly, he did not know what
to do about it.
Even had Sylvia accepted him, he
was in no position to marry her as
yet. He couldn't even earn living
for himself, let alone wife; and the
thought of bringing her home to par
entail charity repealed his every in
stinct of manhood. Yet the knowl-
edge of her labor CALLED him fear
fully.
impasse OF conflicting forces, where
he could see no clear way ahead.
And yet he knew--for something
deeper than his reason told him
that some time, soon or late, the cur
rents Of life would have their way
with Sylvia and him. For woe or
veal, what must be would be.
1t was one Sunday afternoon to-
ward the end Of March that Vinton
asked Sylvia to mary him. He
asked her in the little parlor of her
East Boston flat, under the direct
surveillance of the stuffed parrot.
The question was not inrpeded or OBJ
scured by romantic flights of extray-
agance or by rhetorical flourishes. 1t
was a rattle" prosaic proposal, like
their courtship.
sylvia" said Vinton, laying down
the mission report she had asked
him to read. well just let these sta
tistics go till later. l want to ask
you something"
about the work." said she, from
the wicker chair by the window,
where she was sitting. looking out
into the dreary street.
mo; about YOU"
What do you want to know about
me, Bradford?"
More than you've ever volun-
TERED" he answered.
You know. all there is to know. 1
guess" Her gray eyes met his. and
she smiled. I'm just as you see
me-"
YES, of course" he persisted; but
there's more in each OF us than Just
ourselves. There's a long line back
of us. That's our stock, our family,
our race. You know pretty well what
my stock is, Sylvia. What's yours"
She kept silent for a moment,
sensing the possible import of his
question. A very slight tinge of col
or came mounting in her face.
My stock?" said she. why, it's
the same as yours, Bradford. We all
belong to one big family-the family
of one common blood--humanity"
Yes. l know" he admitted, "but
there are other factors involved. Tell
me ore about your antecedents.
What do they matter?" she par
ried, Struggling her shoulders. II
don't give thought to mine, or
yours either. I'm looking toward the
future, not the past" 81
$50 am l." said V1nton, "and that's
one reason why you are so dear to
me. But l'ayenir est fait du tpasse'
the future is made of the past, as
some philosopher has said. Won't
you tell me more about your fam
ily?"
We'll, If you really want to know,
we are English. with little mixture
of Scotch blood-Highland Scotch.
Fathers family came originally from
York. and mothers from Caithness.
I've already told you that father was
Gloucester sea captain. Mother
was farmers daughter"
There couldn't be a stronger stock
than yours, Sylvia. Joined to mine /;
it could accomplish anything!"
"Don.t-Ia.adford," answered Syl-
via. You mustn't talk that way"
why not?" demanded Vinton. He
came over to her, as she sat by the
window, laid a hand on her shoulder
and looked down earnestly into her
face. why not?"
Because. we mustn't go astray
like that. 1t could spell nothing but
trouble, sooner or later. You're, what
you aye, and I'm what l am, and a
whole world lies between u.s.
1--WE can annihilate that world"
mo. Bradford" the girl objected
land even if we could, me mustn't
Your whole outlook on life is differ
ent. from mine. And there are prac-
teal difficulties of all sorts in the
way. Your family would never con
sent, for one thing All your friends
and associates,
"Oh, hang that" he exclaimed
What do I care about them?"
You would care, In the end. Yo,
don't think so now, Bradford, but{i.
l brought disaster onyyou, you would
care. Forgive me for saying-it,. bu
you're not fitted to meet the worle
and wriag living from it, as 1 am
I'm not reproaching you when tel
you that you're-you're-'
Dependent he exclaimed. Yves
Sylvia-say the word. It's true, ant
l know it. But 1 won't always be
I'm making progress in my work
Only last week, you know, l sold al
article to the Transcript for twelve
dollars"
Enough for gasolene for one tril
in your car!'
"And that's only the beginning,
he persisted. Il have several goot
prospects,. In little while I'll be
on my feet. Dismiss that part of Il
from your mind. What else stand.
in the way?"
my work," she answered simply;
my work at the mission"
II can share it," =.