Evening star., 1922-09-24
AGirls Leap in the Dark;
Love for a Wayward One;
A Friends Self-Sacrifce

been for Zeke's Erdudging kindness
and the tender. unstfnted sacrifice Of
his wife, Hephzibah, Stephen never
would have reached the threshold Of
the university, never even have re-
eefved the tools with which to work
his own way Through.
And Stephen was q worker. With
the terrible patience Of youth he had
drudged at the dullest. most exact
ing labor in the judges Office. Even
the Judge had marveled at It.
Its only when they're young" he
had once observed to Lily, that
they'll stand for tho tyranny We old
boys put upon them"
Lily closed the window where, in
the April breeze. the shade had rat
tied. "The Judge may tell you some
thing about it tonight" she said.
You're going to the party. aren't
you?'
Stephen Douglas shrugged his
shoulders. "The judge probably won't
even know I'm there"
Lily could think Of a dozen retorts,
but she did not make them. There
was something disarming In the
genuineness OF his modesty. "Oh,
yes, he WILL" she said. Several peo-
pie are going to know you're there"
She waited moment. More power
to you, kid" she laughed
+ -
OTEPHEN never went out to the
y judges without an especial emo
tion. The old house, dignifed, almost
beautiful despite the execrable post
civil war period to which i. belonged.
stood at the top Of an oak-covered
knoll. To Stephen the lights from
the long French windows in the
drawing room streamed across the
grass like silver paths Of enchant-
ment
He liked the big, gloomy library,
where the books reached all the way
to the ceiling; the oak-paneled din
ing room: the drawing room. with its
pier glass mirrors and its two carv-
ed marble f1replaces. Judge Truman's
house typified to Stephen everything
that was splendid and unattainable.
It never occurred to him that Con-
stance Truman. its mistress since the
death of her mother. might nnd it an
unsupportable burden.
Indeed, to Constance Truman it
represented all the loneliness and re-
straint of her gTlhood. At sixteen
she had become its mistress, and no
one would ever guess how many
hours. not only Of thought and su-
pervision. but Of actual manual labor.
the old monster had demanded. If
the judge suspected what the house
meant to his daughter. he only sus-
pected Constance Truman had never
complained.
Stephen Douglas walked out to the
Trumans' from Mrs. Reuben Brooks
home on Center street, where he had
room and got his breakfasts. He
was afraid to arrive too early, though,
more than anything in the world. he
wanted to be alone with Constance
Truman. At twenty minutes Of he
rang the bell at the front door, which
was opened obsequiously by the negro
who moved lawns and tended fur
naces in the neighborhood. High
Henry, as the street called him. had
known all the guests at Miss Con-
stances parties from infancy. He
had driven them nightly off porches
he was scrubbing. He had put out
adventurous fires built during the
playing Indian period. He had res
cued many a college graduate from a
childhood death in the hay shoot of
Judge Truman's haymow. To be
greeted by High Henry was sign of
social greatness. Stephen was not
greeted.
Upstairs. in the room where the
men laid off their coats, he recog-
nized David Sargent, and instantly he
knew Sargent's clothes and his bore
only little more resemblance to each
other than the clothes Of a Fiji
Islander and a Laplander. The arro-
giant slimness Of young Sargent ap-
peared to Stephen at that moment as
the attribute above all others most
to be desired. Sargent was a prince
Of the blood, and Stephen a Gurth
with a brass ring of mediocrity. SOL
dered around his neck. Never had
his hands seemed so large or his
clothes so unsuited or his future SO
drab
At the doorway of the drawing
room Stephen stood still moment.
The rugs had been removed from the
parquet floor. once the boast Of the
town, and grinning, perspiring
negro quartet, faverites Of Joe's Jazz
Orchestra, furnished the music. Con-
stance Truman danced by him and
smiled. 1t seemed to him he had
never beheld any one 50 beautiful.
She was the Blessed Damosel; she
was Browning's Last Duchess: she
was Rosamund and Isolde and Queen
Nab. She was all the women poets
have created out Of the golden long
ing for romance that lies in the heart
of each Of US.
II i +
EvEN a. Stephen stared David Saf.
Il gent pushed by him and did that
triumphantly masculine thing known
as cutting I'm. Constance smiled
apologetically 1t her srstwhtle part
ner, looked up 1t David Sargent, and
q second time she giided past Stephen.
1t seemed to the young man in the
doorway Sargent held her boastingly,
securely. Stephen wondered suddenly
why he had come. He didn't belong
here; was an alien. an outsider. He
had been invited because the Judge
wanted to be kind to him. not because
he could ever hope to become mem.
ber Of this society. A sudden wave
of resentment swept through him.
He hated himself, he hated his lot,
he hated the world.
Then, suddenly, he started as
though gun had gone on, when . |
sturdy hand was clapped on his shoul- |
dor Tf vaa tt,a fudge