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Show IB'jr THE - How a "Poet" Proved a Point By RICHARD HILL WILKINSON (Associated Newspapers WNU Service.) had expected them to be. She was saying: "But, Horace, we really ought to go back. It's past dinner time and I'm hungry and " "Dinner!" Horace's tones cut in with scorn. "How can you speak of dinner at a moment like this? Hunger? Hun-ger? My dear, there is no hunger but the hunger of a soul for beauty; the hunger of a man like me for a mate such as you. My darling, look at the mountains. Does not their beauty, their grandeur " "Yes. Yes, they're beautiful, Horace, Ho-race, and your poetry is beautiful, only I had an early lunch and not much at that I really think you'd better take me back." "Take you back? Never!" There was a pause, and Andy, peering through the bushes, saw the outline of Horace's head as he leaned toward Delia; saw Delia shrink away from him. Horace's voice was hoarse, passionate, domineering. "You are mine! Mine! Do you understand? un-derstand? You have been in my life always, and today I found you. Never shall I let you go! My soul and yours are interlocked by the bonds of a love deeper than the deepest river and shall never be severed. Come into my arms, my dearest." At this point it occurred to Andy that since college days his ex-classmate had become a little screwy. And he, decided to do something about it Emerging from his place of concealment, he strolled toward the fish pond, assuming a casual attitude. DELLA knew she was going to have difficulty in making mak-ing Andy understand how she felt and she did. It was hard putting the thing into words telling a man that you didn't think he could make you happy because be-cause he was unromantic and un-poetic un-poetic and placed too much value on material things. "But you do understand what I mean, don't you, Andy?" she pleaded plead-ed almost desperately. "No," said Andy, "I don't." Delia rested a hand on his arm and smiled up at him. ' "Andy, you're big and strong and dependable. depend-able. You're security personified, and everyone will think me crazy for not marrying you. But it wouldn't be fair to myself." Andy bit his lip and punched a hole in the soft earth of the terrace with his heel "Maybe," he said, "you'll get a chance to meet this poetic guy." "Now, Andy, what's the use ?" "I mean it" said Andy gloomily. "There's a guy coming up tomorrow. tomor-row. A classmate of mine. He's a poet" Andy said "poet" with the same inflection of tone with which he would have said "rattlesnake." "Andy not a real poet?" "Yup," said Andy, striving to conceal con-ceal his disgust at the ecstatic look in Delia's eyes. "I I was going to warn you against him. He was always queer. And now that he's started writing rhymes he's turned into what I'd call a nut!" 1 "Oh, Andy!" Andy stood up. He hesitated a moment looking down at the girl with an expression of misery. He sighed, and recalled how once dur- Ihere was rustling near the bench where sat Delia and her poet had sat Andy heard a little suppressed cry of relief, and presently a pair of white arms were flung around his neck and a voice was sobbing close to his ear. "Oh, Andy, Andy! I was mistaken. I didn't mean it He I" Andy stepped back. "What!" he exclaimed in well-feigned astonishment astonish-ment "you here! Well, well, fancy that!" which he thought was as poetical a speech as anyone could make. ' At this point Poet Weatherby appeared ap-peared out of the gloom and said in strident tones: "Unhand that woman, wom-an, scum!" Whereupon Andy loosened one of his arms and smote Mr. Weatherby a very telling blow on the buttoa Delia clung to him and whimpered. Andy said something about a beefsteak, beef-steak, and she nodded in a fashion that gave Andy the impression she would nod thus to any old suggestion sugges-tion he cared to make. So he picked her up and carried her majestically from the scene of the battle. Later that night Andy made an unobtrusive departure from the hotel ho-tel and in a deserted section of the driveway came upon a man seated on a rock. The man was Poet Weatherby. "Hello," said Andy. "Been waiting wait-ing long?" "About an hour, you big ape," said Horace. "Say, what's the idea of poking me one on the button? That wasn't in the bargain." "It wasn't in the bargain either to try to kiss my girl. However, here's your money. Now scram before be-fore she sees you hanging around and gets suspicious." "O.K." Horace thumbed through a wad of bills and grinned. "Nice going, Andy. Say, you sure know how to handle women." "That," said Andy, "is because I take beefsteak with my rhymes." "Dinner!" Horace's tones cut In with scorn. "How can you speak of dinner at a moment like this?" ing the days when he was a football hero in college, he had been fool enough to think he understood women. Horace Weatherby, the poet, arrived ar-rived on the following day. The half dozen guests seated on the terrace stared in rather dumfounded fashion. fash-ion. One or two of them tittered, for they thought it was some kind of joke. But Horace was as oblivious oblivi-ous to their reaction as he was to his impressed and worn trousers, his rumpled coat his black, flowing tie, his battered felt hat He looked about him, clasped his hands, gazed up at the mountains, and began to babble something about the hills and the rills. Then Andy came down the walk and with him was Delia. "Hello, Horace," said Andy, grasping his hands, "how's the rhyming business?" busi-ness?" He paused, took note of the fact that Horace was gazing into Delia's eyes in a manner similar to that with which he had seen a frightened child gaze at a snake, cleared his throat noisily, and said, "Horace, meet Delia Small She's er interested in poetry." "Beautiful!" Horace whispered. "Beautiful!" Then he took one of Delia's bands in both of his own and kissed it Delia blushed, but there was no doubt in Andy's mind that she was enjoying herself. Andy discovered before the afternoon after-noon was far advanced that, as far as his old classmate and Delia Small were concerned he suddenly had ceased to exist Moodily he watched from a distance as Horace led Delia to a secluded nook on the wide veranda. It was not hard to guess from the many gestures toward the mountain, hand-clasping and soulful expression that Ho- race was reciting poetry. Nor was it hard to guess either that Delia was thrilled, excited, fascinated, enraptured en-raptured and, Andy thought dismally, dismal-ly, infatuated. The sight sickened him, but he did not relax his vigil. Toward evening the pair strolled along the trail which led to the fish pond at the foot of the mountains. Andy followed them, then concealed himself in some bushes near by. It was agony watching Delia make such a fool of herself over a man who probably didn't earn $1,000 a year. As the twilight deepened, Andy drew nearer. The pangs of hunger were gnawing at his vitals, but he told himself grimly that if Delia could survive the evening on rhymes instead of beefsteak, so could he. Presently the voices of the lovers were audible to him, and he realized with a shock that Delia's tones were not altogether as rapturous as he |