Evening star., 1926-10-10


"A was enough 20 convince Bill
Emery that he was an unde
.rable alien. Phil0sophically he dew
protective blanket Of silence up
Jrer his head and concentrated on the
marvellous food. He Scowled into his
tntree, but he ate it very thoroughly.
These people might know a great
teal of art, but there was not one of
tnem who knew as much az he did
;'bout good food Their eating wae
merely an absent-ninded accompani-
.nent to the eager. brilliant cenve18i
ion TO which Bill could contribute
nothing. They knew what they were
'alking about, but they did not know
what they were eating. Bill was con-
lent merely to know what he was
eating
This was not his fault any more
than it was his fault that he was
here. He had come TO oblige Jim
I'arker advertising manager of his
large ard flourishinS restaurant. Jim
wrote short stories in his spare time
and was. therefore, eligible 10 he Oc
"upying a seat with tht mighty intel
Iigentsia: but this morning Jim $
grandmother had died. and he pre-
vailed upon Bill TO go to the Quinns'
dinner in his place.
Being an outsider and fully aware
Of it did not greatly perturb Bill En-
cry, for these people were all artists
and he'd rather have been dead than
an artist. Genius. as he saw 1t, was
a feverish. hollow-chested thing-an
abnornality unrelated to health, com
fort and common sense.
Because Of it, he hal been a lonely,
neglected boy. AT "A very early age
he had begun to hope that he had not
;S,h 4a1 lNh oyil &c h Svfft Il
parents. and that he would grow up
TO he a solid, comfortable man who
would shave and bathe and sleep and
eat regularly. Especially eat. Bills
empty stomach had inspired his
imagination to day dreams of deli
cious food.
1t followed most naturally that
after his graduation from college he
should have got a job ma naging a res
taurant, which led quickly TO high
L. successful little place Of his own.
With planked steaks and crisp salads
and hot biscuits, Bill had paved his
way into the hearts of men by the
we'll known route, and now the little
place was a very big. beautiful place,
and Bill hathed and shaved and slept
and ate with heavenly regularity.
With comfortable tolerance he look
ed upon the writer's and painters.
illustrators. playwrights and column
lists who were ignoring him at the
Quinns' table. Six Of these, Barker
had told him reverently. were Quinns.
The tall, spare man with tired eyes.
who sat at the head of the table.
was undoubtedly Sherwood Lawson
Quinn. the portrait painter.
Bill shuddered in Mortified sympa-
thy as he tried to imagine himself
in this mans place. the head of
family of five-or was ii siX?-souls
tormented with the everlasting urge.
Even the delicate seasoning OF the
souffie could hardly mitigate the hor-
ror of such picture.
The CAV buzz of talk and laughter
had absorbed. he noticed thankfully.
both the bobbed-haired girl on his left
and the raw-boned woman on his
right. and he felt reasonably certain
that neither of them was going to pay
the slightest attention to him. He
knew without looking at them that
they would he ''intereStinglu looking.
and if there was one thing III woman
kind Bill diSliked it was an interest
ing face.
Sallow skins, restless eyes. large
teeth, and badly fitted noses made up
interesting faces. Long ago Bill had
arrived at a conviction that beauty
could not be expressed by those who
possessed II. Female creators were
Invariably. if not actually ugly. some
how irregular.
IN the middle of his attack on
bleeding wild duck, the girl on his
left abruptly broke in upon his peace.
You haven't said n word to me-
she remarked in a lightly accusing
tone.
I've had nothing to say replied
Bill without looking up.
You've had plenty of chances.
said the girl. "These literary argu-
ments are always free-for-all."
He wished she would let him alone.
There is no use" he said. hoping
10 silence her. trying 10 drag me
into q discussion Of literature, poetry
or painting. l know so little about
art that ] don't know even what I
like. So I'm out of the picture here
I'm merely filling up space FOR Jim
Barker
The girl laughed.
Then you're Bill Emery and You
own restaurant,
Bill grinned.
The same. Now that YOU know
what sort of conversationalist I
me to this duck the Quinns have
bootlegged somewhere"
Leave YOU" Never. You're some
thing different" declared the girl.
and then Bill looked up. He saw
small young face. with softly
curved. plant mouth, a piquant nose,
purplish blue eyes, and rose-and-
white skin. framed in corn-yell"w
hair. Moreover, she had dimpies.
Father shyly he smiled into her can
did eyes and felt unaccountabiE
happy.
He had not realized how lonely he
mad been all evening. and here. so
near him. had been a fellow alien. a
real girl. She didn't belong with
these people any more than he did.
still. he told himself warily. here she
was. dining with the Qufnns.
"Who are you?" he demanded eau
tiously.
George Eliot" she answered, DIM
pllng.
I'm H. G. Wells. What is YOUR
name. really?
added reluctantly. Quinn is the rest
OF it. Something 10 live up to,
isn't it,
Gracious" groaned Bill, n strange.
ieaden feeling in his chest. ARE you
a Quinn"
The seventh" she replied, eyeing
Bill with frank curiosity.
Then. suppose" he said dis
agreeably, you're one Of these art
lists. too"
Have you enjoyed your dinner"
she asked abruptly.
Bill flushed.
Il beg your pardon" he muttered.
turning to his plate.
mo, mean it, the girl pursued
~ bor praSb yOnOp voice 'fYOu