A belated student at college, twenty-five years of age ... a tramp for
the sake of my art ... as I sat in my cold room ... propped up by my one
overturned chair ... in bed ... betaking myself there to keep from
freezing while I wrote and dreamed and read and studied,--I burst out
singing some of my own verses, making the tune to the lines as I went
along.
"John Gregory, you are a great man, and some day all the world shall
know and acknowledge it!" I said over and over again to myself....
"And now, Vanna, my love, my darling," I cried aloud, so that if anyone
overheard, the auditor would think I was going mad, "now, Vanna, you
shall see ... in a year I shall have my first book of poetry out ... and
fame and money for royalties will be mine ... then I will dare speak to
you boldly of my love for you ... and you will be glad and proud of it
... and be happy to marry me and be my wife!"
* * * * *
In the meantime Vanna Andrews was daily seen driving down the streets
with Billy Conway, whose father was Governor of a Western State ... as I
saw her going by in her fragile beauty, I bowed my head to her, and in
return came a slight nod of mere, passing acquaintanceship.
I made friends with Billy, as I had done with Vanna's homely room-mate
... who thought I was becoming interested in her--because I often spoke
in Vanna's dispraise, to throw her off the track, and to encourage her
to speak at greater length of the woman I loved and worshipped from
a-far.
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