The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1883-01-25
Taking the Editors.

AAo was an eAcocutHStg PlcGufceYuc~'
looking individual. His hair fell in
heavy masses over his shoulders, and q
very broad slouched hat crowned his
large head. A dark green cloak eanae
almost to his heels, and he carried un-
der one arm a large portfolio, q camp
STOOL and n tolded easel. He entered
the editorial rooms with confident
stride, opened his camp-stool and pro-
ceeded to rig his easel in front Of it.
Then he pulled out large piece of
drawing-paper from his portfolio, and.
slapping it on the easel, seated himself
before it and commenced leisurely
sharpening a stick of charcoal.
''Whom do you wish to see?'' asked
the office boy, approaching the pictur-
esque object cautiously, and keeping his
hand within reach of an inkstand.
''Everybody!' calculated the visitor,
fiourishing his charcoal gracefully in the
air, and smiling pre-Raphaelite smile
upon the suspicious boy. 'rm the
lightning portrait artist, and wish to
show the distinguished members of the
Eagle staff how l do it. Only take five
minutes to sitting. Just let the gentle
men know I'm here, please" and he
threw his hat carelessly upon the floor
at his side.
EI,t.e'a-upp,, asked the dramatic
editor, coming to the door of his room.
''As you are," cried the artist, catch
ing sight of the editor, and commencing
to sketch rapidly upon the paper before
him. Don't move. Excellent pose.
just the style of head to delight the soul
of the lover of the truly antique. The
young Augustus come to life. Head a
shade to the left, please. An! that's it."
"When did it blow IMP" asked the
dramatic editor, stepping forward and
gazing curiously at the artist
''Stop!' cried the artist. You will
ruin everything. Another pose gone
wrong" and he threw down his char
coal and sighed.
whats the rowP' asked the city
editor, coming to his door.
.'Ah! my ideal at last" cried the
artist, whisking another sheet of paper
from his portfolio. ''Head little back,
please: Eyes slightly turned toward
the ceiling" .e
'sWhat does it want, anyway" asked
the city editor, stepping forward.
Il beg of you, sir, said the artist.
dashing at his sheet of paper. 'just five
minutes as you are, and you are i'm.
mortal for life."
just at this moment the court report
er sauntered in.
'.Ah, Wilde, old man, cried'the ar
tist, catching sight of him, '.really beg
your pardon; likeness so strong to my
friend. Sir, you shall be my test sitter.
Just lean against that desk over there.
Cross your limbs; throw your arms be-
hind you and keep your eyes on that
ink bottle over there"
ssWhere did it drop fromp" asked the
court reporter, and by this time little
group of editors and reporters stood
gazing curiously upon the artist.
Gentlemen" said the artist, running
his fingers through his long hair and
leaning back in his camp-stool, 81 am
the lightning portrait artist. Give me
five minutes of your time and you are
famous for life. Won't charge you a
cent. Just wish to make myself solid
with the press"
Suppose we give the crank show"
said the police reporter.
'Only five minutes each, gentlemen,
and we will have a gallery Of portraits
to be proud off, said the artist.
Hes good taffy Singer" said the
dramatic editor.
''Its way those artists have" said
the art critic, looking very skeptically
at the visitor; ''rll bet you ten to one
he uses solar prints.'
sTake your bet,n said the artist.
''You might lie more picturesque, but
you'll do as a starter. Just sling of
your overcoat and hal: and I'll show you
a specimen of free-hand drawing"
'tNever accept anything but oil paint
ings,n said the art critic.
Suppose you give me a sitting" said
the artist turning to the society reporter.
Couldn't think of sitting to any one
short of Daniel Huntington" said the
reporter.
s'Ah, here's our sitter" said three OF
four of the group, as the cashier enter
ed the office.
''Delighted," said the artist. '.Rather
modern, but good form. Not exactly
aesthetic. Might be little more Floren-
tine curve of line, butt
"Not this morning, some other morn
ing" said the cashier.
Tell you what you do" said the
sporting editor. 81 have perfect
beauty in the way of bull pup. White
with a brindle eye. I'll just let you
have couple of Ks for good portrait
of that" But the artist gathered up
his traps and stalked majestically out of
the office. .-BrOoklyn Eagle.