Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 73, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 March 1913 — AFTER LONG WAIT [ARTICLE]

AFTER LONG WAIT

How Success Much Delayed at Last Brought Happiness.'

By NELLIE C. GILMORE.

After the hopeless monotony of twenty years, Berringer suddenly found himself confronted by a feeling of curious excitement; a sense of something impending, which might have been tragedy, or travesty, or oven the herald of happiness in his 4ull, dispassionate life. His mood was whimsical, and he wondered yith a grim smile if he were not-growing hysterical in his old age! Forty-six, and —dreaming? Long ago—a score of years—he had relegated sentiment forever to oblivion. And now its ghost was walking. He was not sure that he liked the sensation nor was he altogether certain that he objected to it. But he was decidedly disturbed by It. Did this illogical return to memories signify that the clogged wheelß of his being were again in motion and that some subtle insubordinate self was preparing to begin the old struggle all over again? Twenty years ago life had looked very big and very bright to Arthur Berringer. Fame had coquetted at one elbow and Love at the other.' But putting forth his hand to grasp the one, it had crumbled in his grasp, and in the bitterness of his defeat, he had deliberately renounced the other. He had loved the girl better than his life, loved her far too well to .drag her down'with him to the level of mediocrity, perhaps poverty. His master effort had failed. All that was strongest and best within him had been cast into the venture. He knew that by instinct and he would not go to Alice Rutledge with the miserable story of his failure. So he had written her a letter quite calmly, announcing his defeat and releasing her from all ties. Afterwards, he had set stoically to work, straining every nerve and brain cell to its capacity in the futile effort to gjve the lie to his own self-knowledge. The result was inevitable. His first failure was fol-

lowed by repeated others and he had finally threw down his pen and yielded J himself grimly to the sodden grind of a clerical desk in one of the big railroad offices. All ambition ; was dead within him, and though the' only thing In life he really cared for/might have been his for the asking, hfe vowed solemnly to .forswear it until he had proved himself deserving. Berringer was sitting before his desk, tracing eccentric designs on the blotting-pad and staring into space where the events of his youth lined themselves. He thought with a little Bigh of the letter the girl had sent him in Answer to his own. Every word, stood forth -vividly in his suddenly surcharged imagination. Impelled by some incomprehensible Impulse to open the little wound, he took out his keys and fitted one of them into the lock of a secret drawer. The compartment yielded easily to his pressure, and after 20 years he looked again on the things that had been dear to him in his youth. There was a packet of letters and a bulky envelope containing the remnants of his one great hope. He drew them out with a sort of timid reverence and sat for a moment turning them over in his 'hand, a poignant return of the old bitterness making him hesitate momentarily to go further. But the feeling passed as quickly as It was born, and, after another, he read the letters. When he came to the last his gaze flickered an instant over the faintly inscribed words. Thep he drew a T deep breath and devoured them with starved eyes: “Dear Boy: “Your letter containing the news of your failure has reached me. I am sorry, you will never know Just how sorry, Arthur. For I know that the best of you, the whole of you, went out in that one supreme effort. And I believe in you, dear. But you are right in your determination to fight upward alone. It is not that I leve you less, but honor you the more. You are not the sort of man who wins success with a woman by his side. It must come to you through hard, unremitting toil. And it will come. Success, for its own sake, is bringing one fame is no very great thing, and as such I do not crave it for you. But I desire that a man —the man I love —which makes him break down every barrier to attain it. „ “Some day you will come to me

■with laurels on your brow, and I shall be waiting—even Into eternity, dear —for your hour of triumph—and mine —when you come to claim me. “ALICE/’ For a brief moment, Berrlnger held the yellowed sheet to his Ups; then suddenly thrust It back into the packet with a gesture of self-contempt What right had he —a failure —to desecrate her words? Much as she might despise him—as she surely must now —she could not despise him as he did himself. He frowned as he picked up the manuscript and snapped the rotten oord that held it. The seal on the envelope was still unbroken—after a score of years. He smiled syntcally in anticipation of the polite printed slip of regret that doubtless reposed between the fcheets just as the editor had plaoed It a couple of decades ago. A strange Impulse rushed over him to toss the whole thing into the Are, bat an equally potent one of curiosity assailed him to look inside once more—and he Broke the ■eel. A blur of penscrlpt confronted

him. He gave a little start, lifted b the letter with- shaking fingers and read: / “My Dear Mr. Berringer: a masterly manner —nothing short of it: We predict a big success for your 'hook and intend to spend a small fortune in aflvertising it. However, we are somewhat puzzled a bit disappointed over the ending. It seems hazy, incomplete. We are quite certain that you can readily remedy this defect and will willingly do so under persuasion of the assured sale we foretell for your work. We accordingly return the Ms. for your correction. In the event that you do not wish to be guided by our counsel in the above matter, we will- consider the matter closed. Otherwise, kindly communicate with us at your 1 earliest convenience. “HARDWICK BROTHERS, "Publishers. •. “(per G. M.—Ed.)" Berringer read the lettfer three times, laid it down—picked it up and read it again. What a fool he had been to throw the manuscript aside without even opening it. He recalled vividly the day it came back, ,his bitter disappointment, the blank future that loomed before him, the thought of her. Twenty years of hopelessness and gloom and sometimes despair! And now it was too late! Was it? He sat up suddenly in his chair. His heart throbbed heavily with excitement The publishing house was an old and reliable one. The same editor was in the chair. Without even leaving his seat he drew up pen and ink and paper and dashed down a hasty line, enclosed it with the bulk of manuscript, sealed and addressed it to Harwick Brothers, New York.

It was* a weary month of waiting and hoping and fearing that followed; a period of alternate ecstasy and depression. The long looked for letter came at last. Berringer opened it dazedly, dreading to look inside. But he pulled himself together sharply and unfolded the crackling, typewritten sheet. The editor remembered the story distinctly; he was returning it under separate cover with detailed instructions as to the exact line of corrections he wished made, and was more than ever eager to have the privilege of putting out such a powerful work of fiction. The paper slipped from Berringer’s nerveless fingers. For a little while he felt blinded by the great good news that had come to him. Then gradually the chaos of his mind cleared and his thoughts began to disentangle themselves for concerted action. Alice! The dominant thought was of her, for her. A thousand miles lay between them —and if that were all! But suppose she had ceased to care, to believe in him—to wait, as she had .promised? At least he could write and tell her of all his triumph—and ht a week he would know the worst, or the best. Her answer came almost before he had expected it. He had no difficulty in recognizing, the delicate round characters on the hack of the envelope, and his pulses gave an eager bound as he glimpsed the dainty gold monogram on the flap. She was still —Alice .Rutledge! Her gentlewords fluttered to his heart like doves of peace. “Dear: “Through all the years that have come and gone, I have never ceased to hope and believe. The day that I have been waiting has come, and I am waiting now for you. “I am inexpressibly glad of your victory, but infinitely gladder that you will come to me across the chasm of faith-kept years. "As always, i “ALICE.” (Copyright, 191 S, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)