Evening star., 1932-01-10

III coming up the stairs. Hatner Slowly.
Rather hestitantly. AS though they
knew that they had found the right
stairway, but wondered if they should
on.
A woman's steps. He could tell that. But
it was a strange hour for woman to come.
Midnight With dark rain against the window
panes. Rain that threw bars of broken melody
against the night as though a bag of music
had upset, and all the songs were little wild
and very sad.
Now the steps had stopped. And suddenly
Stanley was afraid that they would not come
on Then he heard them again Slowly, stead
lily TREMENDOUSLY. AS though the one who
walked wore black slippers. little shabby
A little rundown. Silver slippers would have
made nc sound and red slippers would have
come dancing lightly.
Three flights were a long distance for wom-
an to climb. They gave man time to think
He could tell by the echoes that the woman
was finishing the second flight now.
1t had been long since a woman had come
to Stanley Young at midnight. The memory
OF it could make him little drunk even now
as though the purple perfume OF wine-scented
valleys swept once again across the long white
road that ended at the sea. He had been young
then only 25 or 26. Ten years had slipped
into dim nothingness since that night.
He had been restless 1t had been an April
night. He had gone dreaming to the sea, try
ing to capture the silver rhythm of waters, the
ND the girl had come. So softly that she
u might have risen from the sands. girl
with eyes that were like the sea when sunlight
filtered through. A girl with the grace of
slender birches when the wind was rhymed to
tenderness.
Stanley Young had asked the girl if he
might paint her, there with the broken waters
and sky for background.
"You will be youth" he said. Triumphant,
eager unafraid! With your dark hair tumbling
on your shoulders and your
MY red DRESS" she had told him. 1T Is
slim and shining and like a flame Youth lights
her candles and lets them burn! Come to the
Pirate House tomorrow night"
Sometimes on clear nights, the artist had
heard the music that came drifting from the
Pirate House. The vibrant sob OF violin and
the shrek of a saxophone. Not nice music.
Too barbaric.
And with it there was the thud of feet where
fishermen danced in heavy boots. Far, far down
the beach :. Then the wind would change
and the music would go out to sea before he
remembered that he had heard it,
People at the hotel where Stanley was stay
ing never went there. The Summer crowds
might But he had come in Spring.
He wondered why the girl had suggested
such place for tryst.
But he went Because he wanted the girl
for his picture he had told himself. He wanted
the portrait to be exhibited. He wanted to see
his name in neat letters in the corner. He
might even win one of the prizes at the
Autumn exhibit.
The fishermen and the village maids were
seated at the candle-lighted tables as Stanley
came into the room. Grease dripped across
the brown crockery where the tapers leaned.
Suddenly the music was soft a dream that
is passing, as tender as the lullabys that young
mothers sing, as lifting as the songs that are
thrown like confetti when it is time for
nival
A girl had come dancing into the opening
on the floor The girl whom he had met on
the shore. She laughed at him when the dance
was done Then she was gone
But he saw his picture more clearly Saw
1t hanging in the gallery while the crowds
stood by. Saw the blue ribbon as easily as
though the picture had been done. '#'. 1