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Newspaper Page Text
c A REAL HERO By Sarah Estelle Balcom. 'Copyright by W. G. Chapman.) i "I'm up a. stump, Darce, and that's the truth of it. I'm treed, at sea, marooned. My publishers have ordered a tramp series. I've read you the first chapter, and you say it won't do." ( "That's right won't do at all," ? It Was Frowsy. -assented Alvin Darce, poet, critic sand magazine editor. "You don't get the right touch, you see. You -make the tramp all beer and dirt i no human interest. Get back to your old forte the simple vil lager. Look here, there's a big jchance on Japan. Put in a year jthere and write something worth jsvhile." "I'd do it only for little Paul' said Philip North, and his big bluff voice became gentle as that of a woman's. "He couldn't stand a trip like that." Little Paul, the crippled broth er, was the tender spot in the heart of Philip North. Even blase Alvin Darce had seen something in the wonderful love between those two that made his own bar ren heart ache at times. "Well," he said, "if you're hound to immortalize the tramp, do it right, that's all. Cultivate the genius. Study him. I've an idea. Come with me." ' Darce was erratic and wilful, and North never questioned his leadership. The former uroceed- kd to the cheap lodging house dis trict of the city and piloted the way up the stairs of one of its cheapest structures. He spoke to a man at a desk. The latter called an assistant, and a minute later the two friends were halted in front of the last of a row of nar row sheet-iron rooms with a wire netting over the top. On a wretched cot lay a bjg, good-natured (looking fellow, un mistakably a tramp. He was only half dressed, and he stared with bleared eyes at his unexpected visitors. "Remember' me, don't you, Frowsy?" inquired Darce. "Why, sure" assented the tramp, after a long stare. "You're the gent that paid me to stand for a photograph and put me in the paper. "That's right, Frowsy .Well,