The Great God Success

iest and where I wish you to think of me." On the train coming

nce had been due entirely to himself-to his inertia, his willingness to seize any pretext for refraining from action. As to the fu

d looked at the house-at their windows with the curtains which she had draped so gracefully, which she and he had selected at Vantine's one morning. How often he had seen her standing

d was pounding through his temples and his e

he moaned. "How

ed the trap. "H

e go? But what did it matter? "To

Imper

l do-yes-

ing up. He gave her everything except his personal belongings and a few of Alice's few possessions-those he

yond gentler looks and tones. Kittredge had written a successful novel and was going abroad for two years of

the request for 'stuff.' I can go where I please, do as I please. At las

him an approach to the confidential: "What a mess I have been making of my life! What waste! What folly!

a year or so of w

y. "We are all free except for the shackles we fasten upon ourselves and can unloc

ent at Washington or London-no, not London, for that is a lounging job which would ruin even an energetic man. Why not

e? You know how Segur is always laughing at the protect

ions in which the paper is fre

t deal before three o'clock in the morning and had written a short editorial on a subject he took from the news. In the morning he read his article again and decided that with a few changes-adjectives cut out, l

and dusty bust of Lincoln on it, a table strewn with newspaper cuttings. Newspapers from all parts of the wor

d and unhealthily pale. He was dressed in black but wore a string tie of a peculiarly livel

ut stammering before Mr. Malcolm's politely uni

d. I've heard of you oft

ght I'd submit for your page. I'd like to write for it and,

our articles in the paper, you'll know what has happened to them. If you do, paste them on space slips an

ng that it was worthy of the excellent place in the column which Mr. Malcolm had given it. He wrote another that very day and sent it up by the boy. H

eared as a letter to the editor with "H" signed to it. The others disappeared. It was not encouraging, but Howard kept on. He knew that if he stopped march

of her pencil marks on the margin of a leaf in one of his books; a gesture, a little mannerism of some woman passing him

ng had gone against him that day. He looked drearily round his rooms as he came in.

ive or die, suffer or am happy. Nothing to care for. Why do I

vasive yet so unobtrusive; the feeling of her smooth, round arm about his neck; her way of pressing close up to him

cushions. "Come back!" he sobbed. "Come back to me, dear." And then he cried, as a

nd he was sitting up, ashamed before himself for h