Maryland independent. [volume] (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1874-current, 1930-08-22
The Woman Fate
Chose for Him
By LEETE STONE


HARRY vALLoN. after FIVE years
- of signal success as a singer, sud-
1enly made up his mind one night that
he was tired Of this life with its rigid
requirements He had saved money
for a long time. So, as the generous
applause Of his audience that night
died down, he resolved to drop from
sight; to seek some sequestered spot
Of peaceful outline where he could
fish, eat alone, sleep, WOO solitude, and
GEOGRAPHICALLY dream.
Alice Revelle was a musical COM
edy actress who had but recently
completed the drilling grind Of
years run in New York in popular
hit, and six months road tour. She,
too. had been judlcious in the matter
Of earnings; and she, too, was weary
Of applause, garish din, bright lights
and artificial enthusiasts. So she
decided to 60 somewhere and lie full
length on a carpet of pine needles,
and read for hours at a time some
thing besides the sides of q part;
somewhere where there was the trill
of early morning birds and the scent
of shy wild flowers.
Two persons who had arrived at a
similar decision; one near the West
coast and one near the East coast:
just two lonely pawns on the checker
board of life whom a for once benevo-
lent Fate had decided to join. in spite
Of the fact that neither Of them was
aware Of the other ones existence.
Fate, not merely coincidence, led
them both to different renting agents
in New England; Fate whisked them
past each other one April morning on
the same stretch Of highway In sep
arate motors; Fate ensconced them
both in dusty, long deserted little cot
tages situated at opposite ends Of a
ridge that curved like a sharp scimitar
above gentle valley.
Swerving gracefully from end to end
Of the valley ran stream that glis-
tened like silver in the sun and genial
warmth of May. Square in the center
Of the valley there was country
crossroad, with its usual wistful char
acterization of two or three tin mail
boxes, perched on their round, rough
posts. From this juncture one road
ran by Harry Vallon's snug eyrie Of
dreams high in the pines; the other
wound its way by the quiet retreat
chosen by Alice Revelle.
thousand and one ways, consid-
ering this fortuitous arrangement, that
these two young and weary souls,
seeking to weave web of solace with
the loom of solitude, might have met
If there had been only Coincidence to
reckon with. But Fate-dictator Of
marriages made in Heayen-bides time
until the arrival of the moment psy-
Geological.
The natural, stereotyped method
would have been for them to exchange
casual greetings at the crossroad mail
boxes where, by the laws Of average,
they should have met. Strangely
enough, however, neither of them hav-
ing parents living and but few inti-
mates, each had left behind no for
warding address for these weeks Of
blessed retirement from the world Of
responsibility.
The splashing cadence of the little
stream lulled Alice to slumber early,
and awakened her softly betimes In
melodious harmony with the twitter
of dawn birds. After light breakfast
ing she would hasten with one Of her
cherished assortment of romantic
novels to the base of a great nearby
pine where she would lie reading the
entire day.
And that identical music of nature
would serve Harry WALTON as the per-
feet accompaniment to his restless.
yearning thoughts that kept him awake
until far into the night. Thus he
slept until very late in the morning.
Then his habit was TO follow down
the stream with his rod and few
worms in the hope of a trout to fry
for evening bite. 1t was seldom he
caught one; but that did not matter,
for Harry WALTON was a devotee of
the philosophy of fishing rather than
the facr.
1t happened that one very torrid
night in young July, Alice Revelle
was unusually restless and sleepless.
The song of the brook on its way TO
the sound and sea seemed to call her
persistently instead of inviting sleep.
So persistent was the summons that
she rose, dressed and sought a little
glen of streaming moonlight which was
split in two by the relentless little
stream that Fate had chosen for the
CULVER of Cupid's arrow.
AS if it had all been humanity
planned, Harry WALTON was there
who else? Sitting crosslegged on a
huge fiat rock. A frequent retreat Of
his, for there he found the peace and
reserve that were later to carry him
to the peak of a brilliant concert
career. He was singing to himself,
softly, in a vibrant baritone:
"Valleys or hills, with their sunset or
dawn;
} Over them all your love carries on,
Down in the meadow or close to the
blue,
Singing or silent-you, only YOU!