Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 October 1892 — THE IMPERIAL DRAGON [ARTICLE]

THE IMPERIAL DRAGON

The combination of circumstances that - served to bring Miss Damon to L—moneyless but determined was known to nobody. All that anyone knew of her; was imparted by a brief statement made ! by the editor of the Dispatch to the effect that on a certain blustering afternoon in January she had walked into the office and asked for employment. He had declined her services with thanks, i but she came again and again, until one day she found a vacant desk, sat down at > it, and had been there ever since. She wrote two or three caustic articles, struck at one or two local atrocities, and in a little while made an enviable reputation for bitterness and cynicism. Her name got out and after that everything malicious and pungent that appeared in the paper was unhesitatingly set down to her credit. She was not known outside of the office, but the impressions that prevailed concerning her were not flattering. It was generally agreed that she knew too much to be young, was too cynical to be agreeable, and there was a theory current among the paper’s readers that she had been crossed in love and disappointed in her literary aspirations. She did her work in the daytime and was little more than a myth to the men who spent their nights in journalistic harness. They were frequently questioned about her, and they generally answered all queries by the broad but meaning statement that she did not “run with the gang.” Soon after she began her- mark in her new sphere a book of verses appeared, written by a gentleman of L , Getfrge Lawrence. Copies were sent to all the papers, and one of these fell into the hands of Miss Damon. She prefaced her criticism with the remark that the verses were not uniformly bad, but ranged from bad to very bad, and then mercilessly impaled the author to the extent of three-quarters of a column. Lawrence had never forgiven her. He referred to her ever afterward as “The Dragon” and the “Imperial Dragon.” The name seemed appropriate and it was generally adopted. The criticised versifier experienced some satisfaction at having thus baptized ner with indignation, but he by no means considered himself avenged, and‘at the mere mention of her/ name his muscles grew rigid and every artery throbbed with a wild desire for vengeance. Being clever with a pencil, he made a sketch of her which embodied the popular impression that she -was a shrewish person of uncertain age. and it was a source of endless amusemeDt to himself and friends. It must be confessed that Miss Damon’s was not the only adverse criticism, and Lawrence was a good deal depressed, but not wholly subdued. He did not intend to be snuffed out in this summary fashion, however, and though for a long time he attempted nothing in a literary way, he was casting about for a fresh motive, resolved at no distant date to make another, effort. “The Dragon” had recommended proSe; he would try prose. • • • • * * *

In the meantime summer had come and Lawrence was to spend several months with some friends in California. When he returned he would go to work in earnest. It was a glorious day, bright and 0001, -though it was the middle of July; the sun was just rising over the eastern rim of the cup-shaped valley; a luminous ■mist shading from pink to purple was rolling away from Pike’s Peak, and the hits of sky showing between the serrated ridges opposite were deeply blue. Lawrence, on his wav to California, bad stopped to spend a day Mauitou,. He had reached'the springs the evening before, and was finishing his breakfast this .bright morning in the great Sahara of a dining-room when the waiter came in >4 announce the carriage he had ordered for the day. For the last half hour •the gallery in front of the hotel had been thronged with tourists ready to begin the day’s sightseeing, and the double line of vehicles drawn up outside were being loaded with all possible dispatch. As Lawrence emerged from the dining-room the last wagon drove up to the door, and a lady wag on the point of getting in when the driver said: “Beg your but this carriage is for the gentleman.” ‘ ‘But I ordered a carriage for this morning.” “Your order was too late. They were all engaged. This was the last one in the stables. I can give you one to-mor-row,” “I shafl not be here to-morrow.” “Maybe the gentleman’s going to stay over a day or two and would just as soon drive to-morrow,” suggested the driver. By this time Lawrence had come up. “If you can give me ahorse and saddle it will answer my purpose just as well,” he said. “I haven’t got a horse.” “As I leave to-morrow on the early train,” said Lawrence, “I can not conveniently postpone my drive. But we are probably going in the same direction, and I should be delighted to accommodate you with a seat la the vehicle "

There 'was nothing else to T» ■dene, fthe accepted with thanks. Lawrence; harided »h« ditto the carriage, v*wd; thought, os their eyes ’met, that-she was) not-an unpromising companion. He was. <a gregarious animal. He hated being alone, especially in a crowd, and a. ohance “acquaintance was not to bede-, spised. He handed her his card. She, looked “at the name, raised her brows slightly, dropped the card into her hand-, hajgjy'and then, looking squarely at him,! “My nameis Vincent.” He called her Miss Vincent at a venture. She did not correct him, and they fell to discussing the points of interest on the way. lit was a delightful drive, and neither regretted the circumstance that brought them together. They dined at the same table, finished up the sights in the afternoon, <and, getting in rather late, took supper tete-a-tete in a corner of the de- : -serted'dining-room. That evening the. rooms were cleared for a ball. He met her at the door as she was about to enter the ball-room. She wo row dress of black lace with a -sleeveless coisage that displayed a pair of superb arms and a smooth, white neck. The-sharp contrast of her hair and dress with Hie singularly fair complexion made her kiok like a black and white cameo and he thought as he stood there looking past him into the ball-room that no carving could be more classic than her profile. “Shall we go in there?’’ she asked. “It -seem S-dreadfully wiirfn and crowded.” '‘Then-suppose we stay here.” “1 believe it is much pleasanter here,” ■she answered. The ball-room was full of promenaders ’They pressed out on the veranda and sat talking in the moonlight. Occasionally they would return and beguile the intervals, waltzing when the music permitted, until the crowd of dancers began to thin and the parlor clock struck 1. “I really must go now,” said Miss Vineent, rising. “There is 1 o’clock and I must leave at 8.” “Which way do you go to-morrow?” asked Lawrence. “East. I must be home by the 20th.”

She gave the name of a village about fifty nules distant from the town where he lived. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. “I believe we leave this place on the same train, so I won’t say good-by. And now, just one more dance—the last.” Down the long gallery they floated into the shadow and out into the light, his grasp gradually tightening as they went, her face against his shoulder, and his head bent forward until his cheek touched her hair. The music ceased suddenly, but the arm about her waist did not relax. She gave a furtive upward glance, then dropped her eyes. With a swift movement of his left hand he drew her arm up until it encircled his neck, leaned forward and kissed her. She darted away like a swallow, and he caught a last glimpse of her as she turned a corner of the stairway. When Lawrence came down to breakfast next morning it was nearly 9 o’clock. The early train had gone. So had Miss Vincent. * * * * * *

It was summer again. The work Lawrence contemplated a year ago was finished. He had acted on the suggestion of his critic; he had turned Pegasus out to graze and given his attention to prose. The result wosa novel—thestory of a day—called “Ea Route,” which he assured his friends was suggested by an incident of his western trip. The book had been published, and the reviewers, to use his own phrase, had “let him down easy,’’and he was much surprised to find himself gently and affably treated by the Dispatch. The writer was not surprised to find so indifferent a poet capable of producing a tale so pleasing and graceful, so full of felicitous description, so fresh and unhackneyed. It was understood that the young man was under a solemn promise never again to attempt verse, and, in consideration of this assurance and the promise of success held out by the latter work, it was but just that the public should extinguish its resentment and take the author .to a forgiving and indulgent bosom.

There followed a criticism in which the claims of the book were seriously treated, and by the time Lawrence had finished the perusal he was thinking that, after all, he might have been a little too fierce in his resentment upon a previous occasion. There arose within him a desire to make amends in some way for his |own ueriaion of this person, who, however hard upon him at first, was clearly without malice in the matter, and had no doubt in each instance expressed an honest conviction. He wrote a note in which he acknowledged the courtesy and asked leave to call and thank the writer in person. He had a few copies that had been handsomely bound, intended as souvenirs foriiis f riends. He 'would be most'happy to present one as a token of his appreciation. The reply to his friendly overture was written upon a card across the upper lefthand comer of which was the day of the week in gilt lettering; on the opposite corner was a pen-and-ink sketch of St. George in the act of vanquishing the dragon. Below was written:

“Miss Damon will be at home to Mr. Lawrence this evening at 8 o’clock, 705 West Broadway,” This sketch, despite the limited space it occupied, was spirited, and indicated a knowledge of her unflattering sobriquet. As he looked up at his own sketch upon the wall he was conscious of a strong impulse to destroy it. At 8 o’clock that evening Lawrence, bearing his peace offering coquettishlv bound in gilt and morocco, rung Miss Damon’s bell. He was ushered into the patter, and in a lew moments heard a rustling of drapery behind him. As he arose he encountered a slender figure in a toilet of black lace. “Mis Vincent,” he said exulting, “I have been looking for you everywhere. I hftve written you innumerable letters, and I have been four times to that horrid hole of a town when; yon said you lived. Why did you deceive me so cruelly?” “Why did I deceive you? Well, I did not think it would add anything to your .pleasure just then to know the truth.” A horrible presentment seized him. “Then—then—your name—is not Vincent?” “Yes; Alice Vincent-Damon.” “You know me, of course?” he faltered. “Yes.” “Don’t you think you have taken rather a mean advantage of me?” “No; I think the truth would have spoiled a very pleasant day.” In the conversation that followed the purpose of the visit was well nigh forgotten, and the souvenir played a very inconspicuous part in the diversion of the evening. I A week or two later, as Lawrence was sitting in his room, his friend Harrison came in, took a seat on the opposite side of the table, and, after gazing at his host for some time with a most lugubri-

oas 'expression, -sain: “Old man, is this *d!l true tSit f Ire* about you?” “What do you bearf’ “That you have actually naught tha dragon!” Lawrence laughed. “What does Tt mean!” persisted Harrison. “It means that at last lam about t take my revenge. I intend to many her;” Lawrence made this announcement with dramatic intensity, and Harrison, who’had arisen, dropped limply into a chair. After a pause he pointed to the sketch on the wall and asked pathetically : “I say, Lawrence, docs she look like that?” Lawrence reversed a photograph that was standing on the mantelpiece with its face to the wall, and, holding it before Harrison, said : “She looks* like that, and she is the heroine of my story.”—[Waverly Magazine.