Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1931-07-30

his presence by the incarnation of his
verse. Kind? What did that matter
when he was 50 p~asSionately beauti-
full, SO %gorgeously articulate as this?
Here was the d%edicatory verse to her:
"a candle?
Never a candle you.
Not golden.
And not white.
"A COTCn
Smoky-blue sparkling.
Purple.
Flaring. Wildly red My torch.
E. NJ"
| This was a trumpet to Eileen. And
here.
ITO the Hawthorn in Flower.
A skyscraper.
Lighted.
Growing up in lights.
Blossoms?
No? Fires.
White fires in a hedge.
Hawthorn.
Street hawthorn.
Sky hawthorn.
Mad hawthorn.
Torn out of the night by the lighted
fingers of a million men.
Again she was captured by the few
erish web of Horace's mind, and by
her old life. She had been drawn away
from the cool and laughing Miss BIS.
Her senses were sucked into a sort Of
steaming whirlpool. Hot, she felt, con-
fused, elated. Her pulses actually NOV
ed faster for the verse. And Horace's
hand seemed to creep over hers and
hold its fingers, pressing them to the
rhythm of his words, as they did when
he read them to her in that nervous,
exciting, that perpetual voice Of his.
One of the Miss BIS came running
up the stairs and raped upon her
door.
20, Miss Morrell, we can't bear for
you to miss this. It's too rich"
THE funny book?" asked Eileen,
feeling so very far from f%unniness,
from the easy, small visibility of the
speaker, that it was difficult to answer
her at all.
20 yes. Never was there anything
so queer. So come on down. Put on a
dressing sack or something. Theo is
reading it. We'd love to hear you
laugh. And you just can't help it.
Please. To cheer you up before you go
to Sleep"
She followed Miss Buss-she could
do no less-down to the sitting room.
From a small book on her lap, Miss
Beale looked up, twinkling.
She read, forcibly holding back
spasms of mirth:
II am a wildcat,
Puss in the forest.
Clawing-creeping
1 am two wildcats,
One who skulks
And INT who plays,
Rolling in death.
l am two Wildcats"
mo use. She just can't!" squealed
Miss Buss, flung her arms, and rocked
and wept with laughter. 1.-TWO Wild
cats-O, Lordy-Lordy mel"
Both little women gave way and the
room was filled with cacophony. 1t was
several minutes before they noticed
Eileen's stiffish smile.
20, Miss Eileen, what do you think
of that?"
TITS poetry" said Eileen. "A very
fine sample Of the new verse. I don't
believe, Miss Buss, that you are fam
iliar with the new verse. I know this
author, Miss Beale. He is, I assure
you, taken very seriously in New York"
They both looked blank, dried their
tears.
But, Miss Morrell, dear, just let me
try another. Here
-Four Jumps of a
-Four lovely Jumps
Rosy. Malleable. Beautiful.
With my long, strong hands
I poke you
I poke you
This way.
That way ...."
Again they screamed uncon.rollably
and checked themselves.
"She doesn't think it's funny. Theo,"
mourned Miss Buss.
mo-" said Eileen, turning away.
you see, the four humps of wax we'll
1t Is a love poem. 1t wa written in my
honor--by the author"
HE calls himself II. W. muttered
Miss Theo. all aghast.
That stands for Horace Willowly.
Maybe you have heard Of him. / am
the E. M. to whom the volume is dedi-
Gated. Goodnight"
Before she had got half way up the
stairs. Eileen wa sorry and ashamed.
Two two merry little faces, at sound
OF Horace's great name had gone so
blank, had looked so wan and stricken.