had an ideal, and I followed it, working for it faithfully and for it
alone. I've shown it to myself, glowing, splendid, when I became weary
and ready to yield. I've sacrificed, in attempting its attainment,
youth and pleasure--self, continually. Still, I'm afar off--and still
the light beckons me on. I work day after day, and night after night,
as ever; but the faith within me is growing weaker. Might not the
ideal I worshipped after all be an earth-born thing, an ambition whose
brightness is not of pure gold, but of tinsel? That which I have
sought, speaks always to me so loudly that there may be no mistake in
hearing.

"'I am thy god,' it says; 'worship me--and me alone.
Sacrifice--sacrifice--sacrifice--thyself--thy love. Thus shalt thou
attain me.'

"One day I stopped my work to think; hid myself solitary that I might
question. 'What shall I have when I attain thee?' I asked.

"'Fame--fame--the plaudits of the people--a pedestal apart.'

"'Yes,' whispered my soul to me, 'and a great envy always surrounding;
a great fight always to hold thy small pedestal secure.'

"Of such as this are ideals made? No. 'Twas a mistake. I have sought
not an ideal, but an ambition--a worthless thing. An ideal is
something beautiful--a great love. 'Tis not yet too late to correct my
fault; to seek this ideal--this beautiful thing--this love."

He reached over to the woman and their fingers, as by chance,
touching, lingered together. His eyes shone, and when he spoke his
voice trembled.

"_You_ know the ideal--the beautiful thing--the love I seek."

Side by side they sat, each bosom throbbing; not with the wild passion
of youth, but with the deeper, more spiritual love of middle-life.
Overhead, the night wind murmured; all about, the crickets sang.

Turning, she met him face to face, frankly, earnestly.

"Let us think."

She rose, in her eyes the look men worship and, worshipping, find
oblivion.

A moment they stood together.

"Good-night," she whispered.

"Good-night," his lips silently answered, pressing upon hers.

A DARK HORSE

Iowa City is not large, nor are the prospects for metropolitan
greatness at all flattering. Even her most zealous citizen, the
ancient of the market corner, admits that "there ain't been much
stirrin' for quite a spell back," and among the broad fraternity of
commercial travellers, the town is a standing joke. Yet, throughout
the entire State, no community of equal size is so wel