The room smelt antiseptic. Nearby, Broadway roared and spread in
wavering blazons of theatric gold. I looked down upon it, dreaming of my
future fame, my great poetic and literary career ... my plays that would
some day be announced down there, in great shining sign-letters.
* * * * *
The sound of an employee's beating with a heavy stick, from door to iron
door, to wake up all the Mills Hotel patrons, bestirred me at an early
hour.
* * * * *
I meditated my next move, and now resolved on another try at community
life.... The Eos Artwork Studios, founded in the little New York State
town of Eos, by the celebrated eccentric author and lecturer, Roderick
Spalton.
I was in such impatience to reach Eos that I did not cross over to
Haberford, to drop in on my father. I feared also that my leaving school
the second time, "under a cloud," would not win me an enthusiastic
welcome from him.
* * * * *
By nightfall I was well on my way to Eos, sitting in an empty box-car. I
had with me my new clothes--which I wore--and my suitcase, a foolish way
to tramp. But I thought I might as well appear before Roderick Spalton
with a little more "presence" than usual. For I intended spending some
time in his community.
Characteristically, I had gone to the office of the _Independent_, had
not found the editor in, that morning, and had chafed at the idea of
waiting till the afternoon, when I might have had a fruitful talk with a
man who was interested in the one real thing in my life--my poetry.
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