The Washington times., 1921-12-19
THE WINE OF LIFE
STORY OF AN AMBITIOUS YOUNG SCULPTOR.
-By ARTHUR STRINGER-

plain. The appeal seemed to have
gone out of the city about him.
which cared neither for his hap
piness nor his misery. his success
nor his failure. He became a vic
tim OF that vague indifferency i'm
posed upon him by the dwarfing in
fluences of numbers. The city
humbled a man, he found. And II
also tended TO obliterate him.
80 Yet he remembered, word for
word, what Charlotte Kirkner had
said about life. Somewhere deep
inside OF us is a spark that must
DE Kept alive, a light that brings
sort OF tragedy into our lives
when we let 1t go out" And what
ever happened, he told himself as
ne went back to his work very
much like going back to the side
or an old and dependable comrade.
that light must live.
one raw and blustery afternoon
when March gave every promise of
going out like a lion he was alone
In his studio, going over the proofs
or his book. This task, with its,
evidences of definite accomplish
ment. brought with Il an unexpect-
ed revival of spirits. He had. after
ali. created something, Of his own
Wit made something to redeem him
from blank namelessess, left a rec
ora Tor others to read and under
stand
And this thing of his own clothed
now In the authority OF print, for
titled him with new and timor.
Gus pride. When q knock sounded
on his door he rose to answer IL
aostractedly, still thinking of a pur-
pie match which had been able to
quicken his pulse a trifle. He
even wondered. in a brief and frag.
mentary way, IL the resolution OF
hfe's fever were buttressed on work,
and work alone.
A Strange Visitor.
ID yuh use models. at ALL
models such as me7" a husky and
none too hopeful voice was inauir-
Ing OF him out OF the gloom.
Storrow found himself staring at
q great hulk Of a man, with rain
dripping from his ragged coatedges.
There was something reminiscent
about that titanic and melancholy
ligure, mist of memory shot
through with pain. Then Storrow
understood.
1t was Michael Mullaly, the one
time engineer of The Alwyn Arms,
the drunkard who had beaten his
wife at the bottom of a fire-escape
and opened the door of an adyen-
ture leading to dark and unlocked.
for consequences
Come in" said Storrow. STEP
ping back as the sodden figure lum-
bered past him And he ,,,o.
neither gladded nor saddened Tto to
behold that once defiant Hercules
so sorry and suppliant a figure.
Calamity and the cup that cheers
had plainly marked him as their
own. Silently the two men CON
fronted each other in the clearer
light of the studio. Slowly recogni.
ton crept into the blinking Celtic
eyes. s".~
"Why, yuh're the lad"-bsgan
Muflaiy. Then discretion brought
him up short, with an uncom-
Portable hitch of the giant hips.
"Yes, I'm the man. said Stor-
row, understandingly. with q glance
down at the others open and Leak
ing shoes.
The dilapidated Goliath studied
his old-time enemy. He stood a
little bewildered at the discovery
that no enmity lurked in the others
glance.
THAT was a grand fight" he
finally averred, with guile. "A
grand fightp
Did 1t strike you that way?"
asked Storrow, his thoughts a mile
away.
(To BE Continued Tomorrow.)
Copyright 1920, by Arthur strlnserO
published by arrangement with Inter-
national Feature Service. Inc.)