The Washington times., 1938-03-15

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It was no place for young in
terne on nothing a month to be
up there among those expensive
trappings. But I said I'd wear the
threadbare suit a month longer to
make up for it. You'd just got a
Job that day-at laSt-and we were
celebrating.
You looked so pretty in that
white thing you had on-like an
angel with feathery, floating wings.
DO you suppose" you said to
me, there's something light-mind-
ed about us because we like dan
cling so much?"
why shouldn't we like dan
cing?"
DANCING A PASSION
''But ought it mean so much to
us? Would people hold it against
you-a doctor? Would they think
it too frivolous"
Don't be silly. Everybody likes
to dance"
Eyes, but not the way we do.
To most of them it's merely a
pleasant pastime. To us it's more
than that. Do you realize that
with us it takes the place OF the
awe other people have for great
paintings, for the theater, for ma
jestic music-grand opera, pro
found symphony"
Dancing is our symphony" I
said. I was thinking mostly OF
how I loved you.
Nobody ever accomplished any
thing yet without a rush OF ego.
Rhythm is at the base OF all
beauty, whether it's music or
painting or dancing or just doing
a creditable job of the bare, plain
business of everyday living"
Il think you're right and that's
what we feel when we dance
vitalizing from the mighty rhymth
that's at the base of all living" ="
The musicians trooped back
after an intermission. The maestro
raised his violin.
The Blue Danube Waltz they
played. Our favorite. Come on,
I said.
p We were the only ones on that
shining strip of floor. I looked
at you-how lovely you were! How
like a little girl-worried because
you feared it might be considered
unbecoming a young medico to be
so enthusiastic about anything so
frizololls as dancing.
AS NEVER BEFORE
. Violins sobbed, the brasseS
moaned, the cello throbbed. They
sang the song of my love for you.
we danced as we had never
danced before.
"Who is this Astaire?" you gen
tly Knocked, these Hartman,S S
these DeMarcos-?"
NOBODY else came on the floor
People all around we're watching
us. The Blue Danube played on. I
was vaguely conscious Of your
dress that floated white as an an
gels wing. We swirled and swayed
Il was Pierrot; you Columbine.
But we were more than that.
We were movement, grace, born
Of a matchless spell of August
night. It was nothing either of us
had anything to do with. We were
simply caught in that rhymth and
motivated by it into an ecstasy of
movement that neither Of us could
have conceived.
CYNOsURE OF ALL
A ripple of applause came from
somewhere, others took it up. The
whole roof broke out in a burst
OF hand-clapping.
That brought us back to life.
From Super-beings through whom
the gods of rhythm breathed their
divine flame, we became again just
q poor young inferno and his girl.
Stripped Of my sudden divinity, I
became acutely self-conSciouS. You
didn't: I can still see the grave
little bow with which you acknowl-
edged the applause.
A week later we lay one night
flung across the roadway. Ambu-
lances came, the police. The car
Walters lent me was smashed to
bits.
The man who ran into us was
drunk. Later they gave him 20
years in prison. What good did
that do US?
I lay on that hospital bed fol-
two solid years. Last week they lei
me out. I came up to this little
Adirondack hamlet to stay with
my parents while I learn to wall
al over again.
It Is very different here from