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"'_He who is not with me is against me_, as that gentleman said who
was notoriously capable of only coarse distinctions and puerile
"What of it?" Ferrenby began to look alarmed. "Oliver Cromwell said it,
didn't he? or was it Washington, or one of the saints? Good Lord, I've
Burne roared with laughter.
"Oh, Jesse, oh, good, kind Jesse."
"Who said it, for Pete's sake?"
"Well," said Burne, recovering his voice, "St. Matthew attributes it to
"My God!" cried Jesse, and collapsed backward into the waste-basket.
AMORY WRITES A POEM
The weeks tore by. Amory wandered occasionally to New York on the chance
of finding a new shining green auto-bus, that its stick-of-candy
glamour might penetrate his disposition. One day he ventured into a
stock-company revival of a play whose name was faintly familiar. The
curtain rose--he watched casually as a girl entered. A few phrases rang
in his ear and touched a faint chord of memory. Where--? When--?
Then he seemed to hear a voice whispering beside him, a very soft,
vibrant voice: "Oh, I'm such a poor little fool; _do_ tell me when I do
The solution came in a flash and he had a quick, glad memory of
He found a blank space on his programme, and began to scribble rapidly:
"Here in the figured dark I watch once more,
There, with the curtain, roll the years away;
Two years of years--there was an idle day
Of ours, when happy endings didn't bore
Our unfermented souls; I could adore
Your eager face beside me, wide-eyed, gay,
Smiling a repertoire while the poor play
Reached me as a faint ripple reaches shore.
"Yawning and wondering an evening through,
I watch alone... and chatterings, of course,
Spoil the one scene which, somehow, _did_ have charms;
You wept a bit, and I grew sad for you
Right here! Where Mr. X defends divorce
And What's-Her-Name falls fainting in his arms."
"Ghosts are such dumb things," said Alec, "they're slow-witted. I can
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