Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 164: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

TY Ye A By LESLIE RAMON HEN Andrew Lorimer came back \ \ | from town he stood for a moment in the doorway of the room where for more years than he cared to count he had lived with his dreams and memories of —the past. The walk up the hill from the village station had tired him, and he was breathing a trifle heavily, but it was not a purely physical weariness that caused An- drew to lean against the door frame. His was a fatigue of the spirit. All his life An- drew had been trying to reconcile things- as-they-were with what he thought they ought to be. He had fought the nearly al- ways losing battle of the idealist; given his youth and mature years to the production ‘of verse and tuneful song. He had dared to be a poet-composer and pledged himself 3 anc his beloved to suspense and poverty. Now—Andrew Lorimer’s dreamy eyes were : ond was white; his beloved had measure the heartache of the victor when the laurels of triumph come—too late? As he moved away from the door An- drew’s mouth quivered. There was a stifled sobbing quaver in his sigh. He looked aim- lessly about the dusty, untidy room. Here, in work, he had found solace from lonesome- ness. He glanced over the table littered with sheets of paper. There he had spun words to charm and give hope to others. He had found distraction; some measure of com- fort in shaping vital thoughts to simple phrase. Over by the window was the old- fashioned grand piano, where he had sat late o’ nights seeking the melody to carry the joyous lilt or poignant sadness of his ~ songs. Now—there was no further incen-— tive to labor. Andrew Lorimer had—ar-— rived. Each month when he went up t0 town his publishers handed him a check 0