Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1928-07-26

The overcast sky somehow made
Henry Gearshift think of Kathryn. She
vanished years ago In the tragedy called
Time when his days were filled with
music and his nights were all sublime.
She went away one Summer day, and
he never saw her again, but now and
then. when a seashore breeze filters into
the hot streets and that gray sky over
head makes him think of the long ago,
he remembers her.
Go, cold type! May you find warm
hearts to greet you! 1t is with some
thing akin to hesitation that we tell
this simple tale of youth, as related to
us by our friend Gearshift IN one OF
those bursts of confidence men some
times indulge In
We are fearful lest some one should
smoker at dream. Dreams should
never be snickered at. Even the awful
dreams of those who only dream are
not to be laughed at: they are sacred.
1t is from such simple memories that
ideals are built up--ideals which no
amount of future disilluSionment can
alter, as we shall attempt to show.
Wherefore. reader, bring to the reading
appreciation, without which the warm
est print that ever was will be cold, but
with which the coolest type may be
made warm.
Kathryn had dark hair and eyes and
that glowing, rudy skin which needed
no rouge. To her, no doubt, Gearshift
owed his lifelong liking for the clear,
tanned skin which the sun alone can
bestow.
Perhaps many of our most cherished
likes come from childhood days. 1t
would be interesting for any human be-
ing to check up on his likes and dis
likes and attempt TO trace their origins.
II he were good at this sort Of thing
and possessed the requisite honesty of
mind, he would be able to pin many OF
his likes Squarely upon persons he knew
as child.
Gearshift told lis, for instance, that
his preference for the soprano voice Is
clearly traceable to those early days at
the seashore The same Summer which
brought Kathryn to the beach held in
its ample embrace another young lady
who had a sweet voice, which upon
occasion she would Use in song.
Today Gearshift can neither recall
her appearance nor her name. All he
remembers Is her voice. She was for
him. then, simply voice. Sometimes
In the evening at the hotel where they
all stayed she would bring out her
music and sit down at the rusted piano
in one of the rooms off the lobby The
hotel dignified it by the name of music
ROOM" but usually 1t was simply play
place for children with sticky hands.
On nights when the mosquitoes were
unusually bad, owing to the rankly hot
land breeze which blew away all SEM
blance to Summer resort, the musical
lady would open the piano and sing
Greene's Sing Me to Sleep or Tostoi's
"Good-by." She never sang anything
else. but she sang those two very well
in a soft voice that still could be heard
out on the dark piazza. Years later
he heard comic opera star with ex.
actly the same type Of voice-Soft, true,
yet lacking In power. Between the two
extremes he has always preferred the
singer of the seashore music room,
making real music out of Q good voice.
accompanied by rusty piano which
failed disnally on some notes and SIM
ply gave no sounds at all on others.
# n X
The first time he saw Kathryn she
wore a green checked gingham dress.
She sat in little parlor. playing at
five hundred" with several girls and
men.
She had flashing smile, which he
could see from the dark as he looked
in, and later, when he was introduced,