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Page 25 text:
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'R- R, RETURN OF THE BELOVED .IAUNITA rIlUNSTALL For fifteen years have I wandered, murmured Ahmed Ben Hassen as he lifted his finely cut head to the desert heavens, and now l return to my beloved father. Poor father! He was ever kind to his erring son, and even these long years of separation cannot have taken his love from me. And little Hermos-little Hermos- The clear gray of the young Arab's eyes filmed with tears of love and anticipated pleasure. Davna, the slim gray horse he had purchased in Cairo, moved through the early morning at a good pace. for he, too, was looking forward to the comforts of the oasis which lay twenty miles to the south, farther into the depths of the Sahara. It will be pleasant to hear the groans of the sleeping camels, and the sigh of the shifting sands once more, rambled on the dreamy Ahmed, f'and I shall tell my father of the ways of the American, and with the money which I 'have honestly earned, we will add a dozen camels to the string. For'my fair I-Iermos I shall build the little white house with vines, as the one in which resides my friend John Doring, and his wife. I vvonderff' The intense silence, which engulfed the silvery desert for miles around, was relieved by the mono- tonous thud of many hoofs on soft sand. It cannot be,'.'.,cried young Ahmed, that my father has heard of his son's arrival, and comes forth to welcome him .to the sanctuary of his home! But yes-they see me- Ahmed, as he sat the impatient Davna, looked down thoughtfully at his white riding breeches, shirt and light riding boots. I should have been adorned in the robes of my countrymen, he thought vaguely. A party of perhaps twelve horsemen topped a ridge of sand dune immediately before the boy, hesitated, then swept down the intervening space, leaving a lone horseman silhouetted against the gray sky, in which just ,a suspicion of dawn appeared. With a little cry, and a futile, protective move- ment toward the small fortune which lay in the carriers of his silver-trimmed saddle, Ahmed turned Davna and fled as if he were a man possessed. The flowing robes and majestic bearing of the lone horseman proclaimed a bandit sheik, a desert outlaw. When dawn came, with a breath of hot wind, a party of robed horsemen entered a quiet oasis. A slim gray horse, sweating beneath the weight of heavy, silver-trimmed saddle, though empty, tested the coolness of a deep basin of water. The tall, majestic individual sat his heavy black, his covetous eyes taking in the sensitive, drooping ears and slim legs of his recently acquired stable addition. lt is a wonderf' he spoke in an aside to one of his followers, it is a wonder that a dog of a foreigner should have such taste in the selection of a mount. Did you procure the papers from his body? I will then have coffee. Call Hermos! Thehead-dress thrown back, the renegade ap- peared' as he really was: a sad, bent old Arab. There was a light, half tragic, half satisfied, in his cold eyes as he sat drinking, with a lovely girl, the black desert coffee. li I lt is just one more point toward revenge, my Fairest of the Fair. We hope for the return of our beloved Ahmed, but he will never return. Nay, never! Those white dogs have him in their in- terests. He is no longer Ahmed Ben Hassen, proud son of the desert, but an American merchant. He cares not enough about his people to write and tell them how he fares. '- I A bitterness unusual even in the passionate tribe to which the old man belonged was in his voice. Bring to me the papers secured from this last degraded offering of fate, and we will see if he was worth the energy my men expended. A fair chase he gave, on that wisp of wind he rode, but now- Ah! But were all the tribes of the lowly white nations by his side, slain by the hand of Ahmed Ben Hassen's aged father! Hermos stood before him, straight and lithe in her soft silken robes. The papers were held in one trembling white hand, just out of the old man's reach. But, blaster, she ventured, 'fperhaps those men whom you have slain and robbed so mercilessly are the treasured sons of some equally fond father! Perhaps even they have a Hermos waiting for their safe return in some far country! O! Father of Ahmed, return to your gentle occupation of camel driver, and leave Allah to his work! Even now Ahmed may be returning to us, though for fifteen -Pagz' 21
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Page 26 text:
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- v . Z JQQE - A' LEDBER L years have we waited in vain for his coming!'! Nay, child! Speak not so. He will never re- turn. His withered hand shook slightly as he looked through a small packet of unimportant contracts, written in a hand which he could not read. They were placed in a small leather bag, in which many other such packets reposed. And now,', he murmered in the soft cadence of his Arab tongue, now we shall see who this last adventurer was. On Getting Off a Vrv1AN Who has not felt the joy of achievement in the accomplishment of a difficult task? Who has not gloried in the victory of a hard-fought battle? He knows how I feel after I alight from a crowded street car-jammed and packed to overflowing with people. Powell Street, bellows the conductor. Hur- riedly I collect my various packages, balance them on one arm while I ring the bell. Crash! There goes a. package to the floor. Good heavens! What a time and place to drop a package! I snatch it and begin my struggle to the door. You may believe that a football player has hard work breaking through the opponent's lineg but he has ten men to help him, while I, all alone, must go through a mob to the exit. With my books as a battering ram and my el- bows as spears, I push my way onward. VVith I-lermos' eyes fastened on the folded pa- per, the old man opened it, glanced over the un- intelligible words, and dropped his gaze to the name at the foot of the document. Slowly, with the white weight of his robes trail- ing at his heels, the father of Ahmed Ben Hassen emerged from the tent. The hot sun was climb- ing higher into the sweltering heavens. The desert bandit's eyes sought the hazy horizon, where twenty miles distant, lay a crumpled white form. He will-never-return--. Crowded Street Car CHARTER Umph! My history book punches an old fat gentleman in the chest. Owl My elbow pokes a young man in the ribs. Ouch! I step on someone's toe. I am sure it was on his corn. Hurrah! The vestibule is in sight!! I grit my teeth and clench my fists fmentallyf you under- stand.D I catch my breath and begin anew my struggle. Hurrah! The door is in sight! With my strength renewed, I resume the battle. Slashing right and left with my books, I gain the door. An- other push-I am on the sidewalk. I heave a sigh of relief-the relief that comes from the knowledge of a task well done. I look at myself-hat on one ear-books bent at the cor- ners-coat twisted half off-bow untied. But where's my free-for-all letter? Frost Flowers KENNETH COLLINS Now I, I fashion frost flowers In the amber night moon's beams. I love to fashion frost flowers Into delicate drifts of dreams. But oh! when the golden dryad Of day looks up from bed, My flowers fade into soft white mist And vanish overhead. Page 22
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