Moving Picture News (Jul-Oct 1913)

i8 THE MOVING PICTURE NEWS IN THE GARDEN By VIRGINIA WEST (Adapted from Edison Release.) (6\li T HAT a typical gentleman of the old school he is." VV "Yes, isn't he? I am sure he must have a ro' ' mance. They say he has never married." It was a young girl and her partner who spoke as they stood resting after a dance. They were speaking of old Mr. Stevens, who sat in one corner of the room watching the dancers. He did not notice them for his attention was centered on another couple nearer to him. "But, Daria," the girl was saying in a low tone, "you can't expect me to give up all of my men friends." "You don't have to give them so much of your time, and you don't have to look as though you are enjoying j-ourself so much," grumbled the young man. "Why, you silly boy. I am only being my natural self, and I have danced only once with each one of them so far." The young man said something under his breath that escaped the ear of the old gentleman in the corner and turned away. The girl stood for a moment watching him as he crossed the room and disappeared. As she turned to meet her next partner there was sadness rather than anger in her eyes. "Just like Julia. I must find him," murmured Mr. Stevens as he got up from his chair somewhat stiffly. "You are not going yet, Mr. Stevens?" asked the hostess as she saw the old man slowly going down the steps leading into the garden. He put his finger on his lips for a moment and then spoke in a stage whisper : "Lover's quarrel. I'm going to fix it." "Alright," laughed. Mrs. Harris, "I hope you can. Put your handkerchief over your head if it seems damp out there." "I will." And the old gentleman carefully made his way along the garden path on his errand of peace-making. "There he is," he said aloud involuntarily when he had gotten well into the garden. "I thought he'd come here." "How lovely the garden is in the moonlight," ventured the old gentleman when he was near the young man sulking on a bench in a secluded corner. "Very," he answered with cold politeness. "Too lovely for a young man like you to be alone." "I prefer to be alone." "You mean to say that you wouldn't rather have one of those lovely young girls with you here?" "I prefer to be alone." "Well, well, the young men have not the warm blood they used to have when I was young." The young fellow on the bench turned quickly. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I think my blood is as warm as anybody's. What's a man to do when the girl he loves cares as much for other men as she does for him?" "Ah ! So that is it. What makes you. think she doesn't care for you? Did she say so?" The young man moved a bit uneasily. "No, sir, she says she cares for me, bnt she dances with the other fellows too much. But why am I telling this to you?" asked the lover impatiently. "Well, I don't know, I'm sure, but if you will let me I'll sit down here and talk to you for a while.'' "Why, certainly, sir," answered the young man with almost cold politeness. "Thank you. Thank you." Mr. Stevens spoke absently. After a long silence he spoke again. "Do you see that cottage in the garden next door? Over there with the lilac hedge?" "Yes." "I live over there." "It'must be a very pretty place," the young man answered disinterestedly. "It is beautiful but part — much of its beauty is lost for I live there alone.'' "You have lost your wife? I am sorr}-, sir." "I have never been married." "Oh! Well, perhaps it is best. I'm beginning to think so, I'm sure." The old gentleman paid no attention to the other's grumbling remark. "I've lived in that cottage for nearly fifty years. Everybody wonders why I've never married. I often liear them whispering about it. 1 don't mind, but J've never told an}' of them my story. Young man," he turned suddenly and spoke almost sharply, "I'm going to tell you what I've never told a living soul." "Why, I feel very flattered, I'm sure." "No, you need not feel flattered, and you need not even be polite enough to pretend you want to hear it. You probably think I'm going to bore you. I don't think so, but that doesn't matter. I have a reason and you'll know what it is by the time I'm through." Silence fell between the two for some time. The soft light of the moon shining through the young leaves cast tiny, lacey shadows across the garden path. While the old man told his love story the night insects sang their mating songs, and now and then a happy bird twittered sleepily to his mate. "In the year 1861," began the old gentleman, "I was twentynine years old. I had all that one could wish for of this world's treasures — youth, health and wealth, and a long line of fair women and brave men of the South for my ancestors. And beside all these I had love. One of the South's fairest daughters had promised to be my bride. We had been engaged for four months and were to be married in two more." The old man sighed and the 3'oung man sat as though turned to stone. "There were rumors of war and everybody, young and old., was in a state of excitement. The j-oung people tried to keep up some of their usual gaiety, but it was hard work to forget the sword that hung over their heads. One night a dance was given, I think it was the last one I ever attended until I was an old man. Julia — her name was Julia; Julia and I went together. Oh, how proud of her I was. How well I remembered the light on her fair hair and the deep blue of her eyes when she came in to greet me. She was dressed so simply in white with a pale pink rose on her breast." The voice died away and for a moment the narrator was lost in memory. "Oh, I must go on with my story," he said with a start. "Well, we went to the dance and as we entered the large room all the young men flocked round Julia to engage dances. I tried not to show my feelings but my evening was spoiled. I turned to her and said very coldly, "1 leave this to 3'our own discretion," and left her. She seemed to notice the words alone for she turned brightly to me and said, "Thank you, Philip,'' just as I was leaving her. "Like the jealous fool that I was I retired into an obscure corner and watched her as though she had been a criminal instead of the innocent thing she was. When the music started she looked for me. I remember now the love that shone from her eyes but I was too blind to see it then. At last she saw me and came swift as a bird to my corner. She said. 'Come on, dear, and I will tell you which dances I've saved for you. You haven't gotten a one, you silly boy. Just because you are engaged you needn't desert all the other girls. I don't forget the boys.' " 'No, I see you don't,' I said bitterly. 'You had better give this to some one else. I don't care to dance.' "'Why, Philip! What do you mean?' she cried. " 'Just this, Julia ; j'ou can choose between me and the others.' With that I turned on my heel and left her standing alone." The listener turned sharply toward the old man and seemed about to speak ; but a wrinkled hand was raised and he did not do so. "I know what a cad I was. I think I knew it then but jealousy and anger blinded me." Away across the fields a whippoorwill called, and was answered by his mate. "Ah, me !" sighed the old man, "everything must have its mate. A man is only half a man without his mate." The young man stared into the shadows and did not speak. "Well," continued the storyteller. "I went from the ballroom into the garden. There I found a group of young men in great excitement. I asked the cause and was told that volunteers from the South had been called for. A regiment was to be formed in our town that night. To hasten to the end, my boy, I enlijted that night. "The next day we started. We had to march right past