, 1883-11-24
THE FACE IN THE MOON.

lHE tACE IN lHE MUM.
We had all observed for sometime
that Tom Eaton had been unlike
himself. Originally goOd-natured
sort Of chap, without much facility
in painting, to be sure, but with any
amount of ambition, he had pleased
us all. The one or two sharp criti-
cisms on his pictures that had been
accepted'5y the hanging committees
and the innumerable reflections he
had sustained at their hands seemed
at last to have turned his temper.
He grew blue, sOmber, now and
again gruff, and singularly lOqua-
cious on the subject Of his art. He
would crate by the hour on theories
Of painting, and was sometimes in
geniOus If obscure. / was talking to
Gleason TOwner about him one day,
and Gleason, who deals in caustic
speeches, said: "Sum up Tom
Eaton, and he is good example Of
limited man with an unlimited
ambition. He was supposed to have
great talent, and started out in life
under the impression that he was n
genius. lie lived in this dream for
awhile now re is waking to find he
is only an ordinary sort of Il man
like the rest Of us. 1t makes him
mad, or II he is 'not,mad, he soon
will be- if hagOes about with his no.
tionS and talk"
- OF 50 iater Eaton InUE1f5'a-
liz9 an evening at the Kit-Kat Club
by giving us his new views on art.
Art meant only portraiture. Every
thing else, from still life up to land
scape, was a mere accessory. He
really dwadled on with his thought,
though his words flew fast enough,
and felt as il he were killing his
friendships as l glanced about the
room and saw numerous indications
Of suppressed yawnS.
Itwas so. Gleason Towner said
Eaton has rung hb own death
kncll. lie belongs inNan insane asy-
lum, not In art club"
"Ireally think his brain is cracked"
suggested Cob Langley. "They sayt
he has an uncle who"
But someone broke in with tidings
Of a new model, and we dropped
Tom Eaton.
| do not believe gave the fellow
thought again until he chanced
upon me the next summer while |
was staying in an out-Of-the-way vii
lage in Maine, on a sketching excur-
sion. One day in July stumbled
upon Eaton sitting out under his
umbrella painting.
"Hello, old man given up por-
traits" / called, remembering by
the association Of ideas his talk the
last time / saw him.
"No, this is a portrait" and he
turned his easel toward me to dis
play most Indifferent figure of an
Irish woman with a basket in her
hand.
He held his brush idly for a mo-
ment, and then looked up at me
quickly.
81 have come here to see you," he
said, abruptly. 81 heard you were
here. Will.you go rowing with me
tonight? l have something to say
to you-a secret. have come all
this distance)to find you, for say it I
must"
l will confess to a vague remem.
brance Of Eaton's queer ways, but l
am not half a bad fellow, and was,
moreover, a trifie flattered at this
proof Of confidence and friendship,
so l consented.
"At eight ?' he asked.
"At eight" answered.
"Meet me here at this point If you
will. l shall be busy until then, and
do not care to see you and idly chat
over nothings while my secret chokes
in my throat"
He laughed uneaslly.
'Tn love-" thought 1 E'and l shall
lie in boat and listen to descriptions
Of her beauties and her charms all
night. Heigh-ho."
At eight o'clock precisely l had
reached the point, but Eaton was
there before me sitting in the boat,
oars in hand, padding about uneas-
lily. He had pulled off his coat, and
as he was a fine, bawny fellow, l
looked at him with some admira-
tion.
"What a Hercules you areW l
cried.
"And what a crab, a turtle, are
you'll Get in.s
AS 1 juRped into the boat, an
noyed by his tone, which was all
most savage, stumbled against his
Daint4bON and big hit Of canvas.