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[Page 139]
156. December 1
Last night a full reading of Twinkletoes… Its real title "A Tale of Chinatown". Morrison's "Child of the Jago" and Frank Danby's 'Heart of a Child' years ago used almost the same framework, on which Burke has hung his "Tale of Chinatown"… but for its wonder of phrase, its sordid realism made even beautiful, and its fine drawing, Twinkletoes is the masterpiece of the three… The drawing of Chuck – the ex-pugilist full of worshiping love for Twinkletoes, and her fierce protector, is the finest thing in the book… a drawing fully abounding in fine phrases, of wounderfully [indecipherable] lights, and rich backgrounding. Twinkletoes remains indistinct…. The ending is the most perfect of late novels.. terrible, ultimate; all the more powerfull for its final development of the horrible Cissy….
"She chuckled, she inspected her hands as she pondered – long cold hands and arms that hung like silver swords. Monstrous emblems arose in her mind and produced a condition of agreeable habitude. She had cast herself for the part of step-mother, and it appealed to her; it contained possibilities…. she drifted into reverie, and floated on adumbrations of luxurious indulgence… she would have compleat [indecipherable] to do what she liked, and there could be no fear of subsequent trouble, for…. she would be in other quarters with Twinkletoes well broken to her will."
The gem of the book is the last chapter – XII… Chuck in his temporary lodging.. alone by an empty grate…
"The thought of his first meeting with Twinkletoes; how the loveliness of her had swept into his dusty soul, and cleared it of many foul spots. … The thought of his commonplace marriage, and the terrible woman who was Mrs. Lightfoot. The thought of his early athletic days when nothing had worried him: when he knew nothing of Beauty or love, and was content. The thought of the storms that Twinkletoes had brought into his placid career… All that was over. He was through. At last his hell had burnt itself out, and he was free of further torments. He sat, unable to move for many hours, until the wide afternoon shrank imperceptively into sumptuous dusk, and snow began dejectedly to fall."
Twinkletoes is a book of strange