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Updated: June 2, 2025
The Talentless One laughed a little under her breath as she sat up among the little flowers, but she was not quite sure that she wanted to laugh. The big stone was on her foot and she regarded it with disfavor. It required considerable strength to roll it off then she got up. Then she sank down again very suddenly. "Oh!" she cried, sharply.
The other B.'s were proud of Billy. T.O. was as small and thin as Billy, but no one thought of taking care of T.O. or babying her. Instead, T.O. the Talentless One took care of them all. She had always been a toiler, always been alone, and to the rest it was comparatively a new experience. T.O., as she herself said, was able to give them all "points."
For T.O. had no talent, and who would call selling handkerchiefs from morning till night a "calling"? Even sheer, fine handkerchiefs, warranted every thread linen! "Talentless One," she broke out startlingly. "You want to know what 'T.O. stands for that's it!" And the amused look in the girls' eyes changed quickly to understanding at sight of her face.
It is the privilege of authors and artists to see and to describe; to "see clearly and describe vividly" gives the pass on all state occasions. It is the "cap of darkness" and the talaria, and wafts them whither they will. The doors of boudoirs and senate-chambers open quickly, and close after them, excluding the talentless and staring rabble.
"Now, you kind of bear on to yourself, poor dear! This boot has got to come off!" the kind voice crooned. But, in the awful process of "bearing on," the Talentless One shot out into the dark, as if pushed by a heavy hand. How long it was before she came back into the light she did not know it seemed to be a point of light that pricked her eyes.
It was, after all, quite true, though none of them would acknowledge it except the Talentless One herself. She was, as she insisted, the odd one in the busy little B-Hive. Her very face, small and dark and lean, was an "odd" one; the faces of the other three were marked by an indefinable something that she called talent, and she was not far wrong.
The roadway stretched dustily and emptily up and down, on the other side of the wall. "Oh!" breathed the Talentless One. It had been a sigh before, now it was a groan. What was she to do? A sort of terror seized her. She had never been really frightened before. The beautiful country about her no longer was beautiful. It was no longer Eldorado to her.
She'll be tickled you tell her I've learnt that leaf-stitch at last! She'll understand!" The thin, old voice tinkled on pleasantly in the Talentless One's ears. "Come back here an' set with me, deary, an' I'll tell you which house is Emmeline's, so, if you go past, you'll know it it's painted green! Did you ever! But Emmeline was always set on green.
Men of this kind were Ney and Murat under the First Empire, and such a man in our own time was Garibaldi, a talentless but energetic adventurer who succeeded with a handful of men in laying hands on the ancient kingdom of Naples, defended though it was by a disciplined army.
One of those talentless painters, who ventilated at Kayser's house, not merely their contemptuous theories, but also their down-at-the-heel shoes? To fall from one Bohemian condition to another, from exigency to want, to be the wife of one of these greasy-haired dreamers? Her whole nature shuddered in revolt at this idea.
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