Jewel Weed

One gloomy evening in January Mr. Early sat alone. He had so many

tentacles spread out through the world of men and women that solitude

was unusual to him. Indeed it had often occurred to him, as an example

of the fallacy of ancient sayings, that there was nothing in that old

epigram about the loneliness of the great. The higher he had risen in

the scale of greatness the more insistently and persistently had the

world invaded his life, until even his appreciation of solitude had

atrophied.

This particular day had been a hard one. The problems of glass and rugs

were unusually complicated, and the interruptions to continuous thought

more numerous than usual. Moreover, without warning, like a meteor of

magnificent proportions, Swami Ram Juna, with many paraphernalia of

travel, had suddenly reappeared to ask for that once-proffered

hospitality. Not without state and courtesy could such a being be

welcomed; and courtesy takes time.

Finally, to discuss the matter of the outer cover for the next issue of

The Aspirant, a henchman invaded his privacy. Sebastian looked over a

pile of designs, and chose a flat but lurid young woman, in a

sphinx-like attitude against a background of purple trees. Then came the

more difficult question of an aphorism to be printed on the table

against which the lurid young woman leaned. It was the habit of The

Aspirant to convey, even on its outside, wisdom to the world, and the

thinking up of smart young aphorisms is not always an easy task. Mr.

Early at length evolved: "It has been said of old: 'Know thyself.' I say

unto thee, 'Forget thyself. Know thy brother.'"

"That sounds fairly well," said Mr. Early wearily, and he dismissed the

henchman and settled himself in a particularly benevolent arm-chair, in

front of a cheerfully-roaring fire. The place was a remote room,

decorated not for public inspection but for comfort. Mr. Early was

tired. A certain new question had been waiting in the antechambers of

his mind, and to-night he determined to give it leisurely attention;

for of late it had several times been borne in him that he was getting

along in years and that if he did not intend to die a bachelor, it

behooved him to move swiftly. The thought had been quickened into

livelier vitality when, at a dinner a few nights before, he had watched

the face and studied the figure of Miss Madeline Elton.

She was certainly a rare creature. There was a verve, a magnetic quality

to her, that he hardly remembered before. Her beauty, her nobility, her

purity he felt to be the artistic attributes of womanhood. No, he not

only admired them, they charmed him.

"Yes," said Mr. Early. "By Jove, if she'd lift her little finger at me I

believe I'd make a fool of myself over her! And why shouldn't I? Why

shouldn't I let myself go? I've got everything else now. A woman of her

bigness likes a man who can do things and who controls other men. By

Heaven, I believe we were made for each other!"