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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
"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
"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
"That's right, Frowsy .Well,