Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1884-05-13
THE FACE In TIE MOON.
BY GRAEAIE MURDOCH.

We had ali observed for some tjlne that
Tom Eaton had been unlike himself. Orig
| inally good-natured sort of chap, with
out 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 accept
ed by the hanging committees and the in
Vulnerable reflections he had sustained at
their hands, seemed at last to have really
turned his temper. He grew blue, somber,
now and again gruff, and singularly loqus-
cious on the subject of his art. lie would
crate by the hour on theories of painting,
and was sometimes ingenious, If obscure. |
was talking to Gleason Tower about him
one day, and Gleason, who deals in caustic
speeches, said: ''Sun up Tom Eaton, and
he is a good example of a limitedNnau with
an unlimited ambition. He was supposed
to have great talent and started out in life
under the impression that he was q genius.
He lived in this dream for awhile; now he
is waking to find he is only an ordinary
sort of man like the rest of us. 1t makes
him mad, or if he is not mad, he soon will
be, il he goes about with his notions and
| talk
| A week or SO later, Eaton monopolized
an evening at the Kit-K club by giving
US his new views on art. Art meant only
portraitGre. Every thing else from still
| life up to landscape, was a mere accessory.
He really dawdled on with his thought,
though his words flew fast enough, and [
felt as if he were killing his friendships as
| I glanced aboat he room and saw numer-
Gus indications o. suppressed yawns.
| It was so. Gleason Tower said: 'Eaton
has rung his own death-knell. He belongs
in an insane asylum, not in an art club
II really think his brain is cracked"
suggested Bob Langley. ''They say he
has an uncle Who"
But some one broke in with tidings of a
new model, and we dropped Tom Eaton.
x y X
| I do not believe l gave the fellow thought
again until he chanced upon me the next
summer while l was staying in all out Of
| the-way village in Maine, on a sketching
excursion: One day, in July, I stumbled
upon Eaton sitting under his umbrella,
painting.
''Hello. old man! give up portraitsr' I
called, remembering by the association Of
| ideas his talk the last time saw him.
''No, this is portrait" and he turned
his easel toward me to display a most liz
different figure of an Irish woman with Z
basket in her hand.
He held his brush idly for moment, and
then looked up at me quickly.
81 have come to see you" he said ab-
ruptly. 'sI heard youwere here. Willyou
go rowing with me tonight? ] have some
| thing to say to you-a secret. have come
all this distance to find you, for say it l
must"
will confess to q vague remembrance of
Eaton s queer ways, but | am not half as
bad fellow, and was, moreover, trifle
flattered at this proof of confidence and
friendship, so consented.
cat 9?'' he asked.
"At s." I answered.
'.Meet me here at this point if you will.
1 shall be busy until then, and do not care
to see you and idly chat over nothing while
my secret cholxes in my throat"
He laughed uneasily.
'Tn love- thought I; ''and I shall lie in
boat and listen to descriptions of her
beauties and her charms all night. Hello
hov'
AT o'clock precisely 1 had reached the
point, but Eaton was there before me sit
ting in the boat, oars in hand, padding
about uneasily. He had pulled off his coat,
and as he was fine, brawny fellow, Hook
ed at him with some admiration.
tWhat Hercules you are!" I cried.
'And what crab, a turtle, are you!
Get in.''
AS jumped into the boat, annoyed by
his tone, which was almost savage, | stum-
bled against his paint-box and big bit of
canvas.
''What are these things doing here?" 1
querried, as l sat down in the stern of the
Doat.
.They go where I CO." he replied.
''They are my TOOLS"
We did not speak for some time. Eaton
pulled hard and fast, and l lay back with
my hands under my head and looked up at
the sky. 1t was just before moonrise, and
the heavens were in their golden glorious
expectancy. did not care to break the
silence. The secret of the night was grand
er and more interesting than any pretty