[AHASUERUS falls back, and a look of deep peace overspreads his countenance. The radiance fades away, and there remains only the flickering light of the torches, which are almost extinguished in the great gusts of wind that sweep through the room. Far above, the joyous chimes are pealing a welcome to the new day.]
Literary Monthly, 1905.
THE MASK OF ADELITA
GERALD MYGATT '08
To think that it all happened within a rifle shot of the greatest city in America, in the very outskirts of New York—this was strange. A romance of old Spain, tingling with the memory of times when men fought single-handed for the toss of a rose or the gleam from under the black lashes of a senorita, or bled and died for the sake of a yellow silken scarf! That such a thing should have happened as it did seems preposterous, and yet, on second thought, it occurred so naturally that at the time there was no idea of its being in the least out of place in this prosaic New World. It was like a dream of the past—and yet it was no dream.
It was our Saturday half-holiday and Henderson and I were driving the stagnation of a week's confinement out of our lungs by a long walk into the country. We were just starting back in the approaching dusk when a round stone that I happened to step on turned under my foot. I tried to grin, and hobbled along for a moment; then I sat down at the side of the road.
"It's my ankle. I don't believe I can make it, Fred."
"Make a try at it, old man. It's only a short mile to the railroad station and there won't be any footing it from there. Perhaps walking will ease it up."
I got up, but after a few steps sat down again.
"I'm awfully sorry, Fritz, but I simply can't do it. The thing hurts like all time."