Evening star., 1925-06-14
Guest Wins His Freedom
Story of the Desperate Stroke That Was Made
Hospitality a the Fashionable Home
an Oversupply of

prior to ii am. is insIpporta BILE; when
/ can no longer leap and play In the
water like a young porpoise; when
do not yodel, dare not sing and, to
my regret, dance worse-if that 10
possible-than / did when young
Madam, l am unfit to be a Summer
guest. If this is Liberty Hall indeed,
let me, oh, let me go,"
Such is the speech I would make
if that were possible. AS 1t is l can
only rehearse 1t to myself.
HOWEVER, I can speak OF 1t all
now in quiet retrospect and
without bitterness.
1t happened last night. Beverly
Jones took me aside.
We're planning to have some
rather good fun tomorrow night" he
said, something that will be a good
deal more in your line than a, lot of
it, I'm afraid, has been up here"
oh" said
We're going to get all the peo.
pie from the other houses over and
the girlS'-thiS term Beverly-JoneS
uses to mean his wife and her friends
ARE going to get up a sort of en-
tertainment with Charades and things,
all tmpromptu, more or less, of
course"
oh" I said, l saw already what
was coming
And they want you to act as a
sort of master-of-cermonies, to make
up the gags and introduce the diff
ferent stunts and all that. / was
telling the girls about that afternoon
at the club when you were simply
killing us all with those funny stories
of yours, and they're all wild over it."
"Wild?" | repeated.
Yes; quite wild over it. They say
it will be the hit of the Summer"
Beyerly-Jones shook hands with
great warmth as we parted for the
| night. l knew that he was thinking
that my character was about to be
triumphantly vindicated.
Last night l did not sleep. But
never mind. 1t is nearly over now. l
have come down to this quiet water
in the early morning to throw myself
In. They will find me floating here
among the lilies. Some few will un.
derstand.
But what is this? I see Beverly
Jones hurriedly approaching from the
house. His face looks grave. Some
thing has happened. Thank God,
something has happened. Some ac-
cident. Some tragedy! Something to
prevent the charades
x *
I WRITE these last few lines on a
fast train that is carrying me
back TO New York-a cool. comfortable
train, with deserted club-car where
l can sit in a leather armchair, with
my feet up on another, smoking,
silent, and at peace.
Villages, farms and Summer places
are f1Nlng by. Let them fv foo
am f1ying-back to the rest and quiet
of the city.
"Old man." Beverly-Jones had said,
as he laid his hand on mine very
kindly the is a decent fellow, after
all, is Jones), they're calling you by
long distance from New York"
What is it?" 1 asked, or tried to
gasp.
It's bad news, old chap-fire in
your Office last evening-Im afraid a
lot OF your private papers were
burned. Robinson-that's your head
clerk, isn't it?-seems to have been on
the spot trying to save things. He's
| badly singed about the face and hands.
I'm afraid you must go at once"
| Yes, yes 1 said, ..at once"
And so here 1 am in the train, safe
| bound for home and the Summer
quiet of my club.
| Well done for Robinson, I was
afraid that it had missed fire, or that
my mesSag ge to him had gone wrong
OF course L can't let the Beverly
Joneses know that it was a put-up
job. I must set fire to the Office as
1t. And III have to SINCE Robinson
about the face and hands. But it's
worth that. too!
Copyright 1e25D