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raged at this he persisted: "I thought Gardner was 'doing' the concert for Cal?" "Oh! you know Cal!" she put a pen in her mouth, "he hates Wagner; perhaps he thinks Mr. Gardner needs company once in a while." "Perhaps he does," gravely soliloquized Jetsam. "How many performances of Tristan does this make, Mr. Jetsam?" "I'm sure I don't know--I am never much on statistics." When she was told the correct number the scratching of pens went on and the smoke grew denser. Messenger after messenger was dismissed with precious critical freightage, and soon Tekla had finished, envious eyes watching her all the while. Every man there wished that his wife were as clever and helpful as Mrs. Calcraft. Driving home she forgot all about the shabby cab having memories only for the garden scene, its musical enchantments. The spell of them lay thick upon her as she was undressed by Magda. When the lights were out, she asked Magda if Mr. Calcraft still slept. "No, ma'am; after drinking the beer he went out." "Oh! he went out after all, did he?" responded Tekla in a sleepy voice and immediately passed into happy dreams.... It was sullen afternoon when she stood in her room regarding with instant joy a large bunch of roses. Calcraft came in without slamming the doors as usual. She turned a shining face to him. He looked factitiously fresh, with a Turkish bath freshness, his linen was spotless, and in his hand he held a newspaper. "That was a fine, dark potion you brewed for me last night, Sieglinde!" he mournfully began. "No wonder your Tristan sang so well in the _Watchman_ this morning!" The youthful candors of her Swedish blue eyes with their tinted lashes evoked his sulky admiration. "I knew, Cal, that you would do the young man justice for his magnificent performance," she replied, her cheeks beginning to echo the hues of the roses she held; her fingers had just closed over an angular bit of paper buried in the heart of the flowers.... For answer, Calcraft ironically hummed the Pity motif from "Die Walkuere" and went out of the house, the doors closing gently after him to the familiar rhythm of that sadly duped warrior, Hunding. THE CORRIDOR OF TIME Ah! to see behind me no longer on the Lake of Eternity the implacable Wake of Time.--EPHRAIM MIKAEL. When Cintras was twenty he planned an appeal to eternity. He knew "Emaux et Camees" as pious folk their Bible; he felt that naught endured
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