The Seattle star. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1899-1947, 1920-08-21
AN
|0hfflIRp, HIM
7ORY~ -
"a DAY
| Alifs0R pATH0s
ROMANCE
Roses, Ruses
and Romance
Copyright. 1890. BY the Wheeler
Syndicate. Tuc1

Copyright. 1890. sy the whee,er
Syndicate. Trc.J
R&vcnel-Ravenel. the traveller.
artist and poet--thrcw HIS maya.
xine 10 the floor. Sammy Brown.
brokers' clerk. who sat BY the win
dow. jumped.
What Is II. Ravvy-- he asked.
The critics been hammsring your
stock DOWN."
Romance is dead said Ravenei.
lightly. When Ravenei spoke light.
ly he was generally serious. He
up the magazine and nut.
tered its leaves.
Even a Phillsfine. Ike you
sammy" said Ravenei. seriously Ga
tone that insured him to be speak.
ing fightiy). ought to understand.
Now. here Is a magazine that once
printed Poe and Lowell and Whit.
man and Bret Harte and Du Maur-
ier and Ianler and--wsli, that gives
you the idea. The current number
has this literary feast to set before
you: An article on the s;okers
and coal bunkers OF battieships. an
expose OF the methods employed IN
making iiverwurst. continued
story Of a Standard Preferred In
ternationai Baking Powder deal In
Wall ST.. a poem on the bear that
the President missed. another story
BY . young woman who spent a
week ~ a spy making overafls on
the East Side. another fiction
story that reeks OF the garage and
= certain make OF automob!le--of
course. the title contains the words
Cupid and Chauffeur'-an article
on naval strategy. illustrated with
cuts OF the Spanish Armada. and
the new Staten Island ferryboats.
another story Of political boss who
won the love Of Fifth ave. belle
BY blackening her eye and refusing
TO vote for an inlquitous ordinance
I, (it doesn't say whether II was In
she street cleaning department or
xsongress). and 10 pages by the cdi-
tor Dragging about the circulation.
The whole thing. Sammy. Is an obit-
uary on Romance"
sammy Brown sat comfortably In
the leather armchair by the open
window. His suit was vehement
brown with visible checks, beau
tifuily matched in shade by the
ends Of four cigars that his vest
pocket poorly concealed Light tan
were his shoes. gray his socks. sky
blue his apparent linen. snowy and
high and adamantine his collar.
against which black butterfly had
aiighted and spread his wings.
Sammy's face-Ieast important-was
round and pleasant and pinkish. and
In his eyes you saw no haven for
fleeing romance.
ment opened upon an old garden
full Of ancient trees and shrubbery.
The apartment house lowered above
one side Of II: n high brick wall
Tended II from the street: opposite
Raveners window an old. old man.
sion stood, half-hidden In the shade
OF the summer foliage. The house
was a castle 'besieged. The city
howled and roared and shrieked and
beat upon its double doors. and
shook white. fluttering checks above
the wall. offering terms Of sur
render The gray dust settled upon
the trees; the siege was pressed hot
ter. but the drawbridge was not
lowered. No further will the Ian
guage Of chivalry serve. Inside
: lived an old gentleman who loved
his home and did not wish to sell
IL That is all the romance Of the
besieged castle.
Three or four times every week
came Sammy Brown TO Raveners
apartment. He belonged TO the
poets club. for the former Browns
had been conspicuous, tho Sammy
had been yulgarized by Business.
He had no tears for departed Ro-
nance. The song Of the ticker was
the one that reached his heart
and when IL came TO matters equine
and batting scores he was some
thing OF a pink edition. He loved
to sit in the leather armchair by
Raveneps window. And Ravenel
didn't mind particularly. Sammy
seemed TO enjoy his talk: and then
the brokers' clerk was sucn per
feet embodiment Of modernity and
the days sordid practicality that
Ravenel rather liked to use him as
a scapegoat.
"I'll tell you what's the matter
with you" said Sammy. with the
shrewdness that business had
taught him. '"The magazine has
turned down some Of your poetry
stunts. That's why you are sore
at H."
THAT would be a good guess In
Wall ~. or In a campaign for the
presidency Of a woman's club"
said Ravenel, quietly. NOW. there
lis a poem--if you viii allow me to
call u that--of my own In this
number OF the magazine"
Read IL 10 me-" said Sammy,
watching a cloud Of pipe.smoke he
pad Just blown out the window.
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