Peninsula enterprise. [volume] (Accomac, Va.) 1881-1965, 1885-01-17
A Fair Fortune Hunter

No; l see that the congll still hangs
on"
II was a small Sky-lighted room
in the upper story of the houses
room plainly furnished wereitnotfo
the glow and beauty of the various
unframed oil paintings hanging
around the wall, betokening an ar.
lists studio. An easel stood in the
middle of the room with a half
finished picture on the rests, and d
portfolio of sketches occupied the
table.
Arthur Dorrilon lay on a sofa
before the fire, wrapped in a shah
by dressing gown. He would have
been handsome if the extreme pal
lor and pinched rlgidity of his fea
lures had allowed. Blueycd, with
dark brown hair, and Il wlstful,
sensitive mouth; you could scarcely
fail TO see ut the first glance that
he waS i'll fitted to cope with the
rough realities of life. He should
have been .born i'll the PURPLE
instead of which it was his destiny
to Struggle for daily breadl
His mother sat knitting by the
window; I. brisk, little old woman
with silver haIr parted under the
whiteSt of muslin CAPS. and u com
plexon as fresh asa girls, in spite
of its many fine-Seamed wrinkles
But there was IL singular lack o
expression in the wide.open azure
eyes: Mrs. Dorrilon WAS stone blind
Aubrey Moore had come into Thu
melancholy little room like CLEAN
of sunshine, with his stately pres
ence and cherry voice. He was
one of those who carry with then
wonderonS invisible magnetism.r
and. though the raven curls tEf
overhung his brow were already
threaded here and there with sor
row, lie was darllly handsome as
one Of Byron's heroes.
at has been a bad day with Ar
thur,,' said the old lady, signing
:;This east wind always seems tt
aggravate his cough, and, besides
he has a severe headache"
''In other Words" said Aubrey
che IS Il barometer who reflects tho
tie state Of the weather"
.DoeS it still rain?" asked Dor
rilon, languidIy.
.Like q deluge-the wind blows
most dismally through the desert
ed streets"
s.The worse for me-" said the
young artist, rising and preparing
to change his shabby dressing
gown for Il shabbler coat.
"But you are not going out, Dor
rilon2n
81 must. I give a lesson to Mrs
Seymour at twelve, and it is half
past eleven alreads.n
"Mrs. Seymour will not expect
you in such weather us Uhis!"
81 beg your pardon, Mrs. Sey
mour is the most eXactlng of al
my pupils; a whimsical. fine lady
whose last freak is art, and, were
to disappoint her in so much as
delay of five minutes, the upshot
would he Il polite dismissal"
s.Then let her dismiss you; {
woman hls no right to be as un
reasonable as that"
Dorlilon shook his head with 6
smile and a sigh.
..That is all very we'll, Aubrey
Moore; but l am II poor artist with
an empty purse. and Mrs. Sey
mour's dollar a lesson happens tt
he d tritle with which | cannot
well afford to dispense"
A paroxysm of coughing cut short
his sentence here; lie sat down,
pressing one wasted hand to his
side.
''But, man, you will be commit
ting suicide! Here I was to buy
one Of those pictures, cash down.
WHAT'S your price? Mind, it's tx
be understood i'll the bargain thai
you stay at home to-day, Mrs
Seymour or no Mrs. Seymour"
no, Aubrey" said the young
mau resolutely, "your rooms are al
ready over-crowded with my poor
daubs. ] Glnnot let patronage de
generate into charity. As long as
| can earn money!, l will not accept
aims"
"Well. look here, Dorrilon, you
will admit that I am pretty toll
cradle amateur artist myselfs"
$50 good one that | cannot put
any credence in your anxiety tt
possess more Of my efforts"
"Giye me that portfolio. I vii
60 to Mrs. Seymour and give the
lesson in your stead to day, while
you remain by the fire andrecruit.'
Dorrilon heSitated. but SECOND
fit of coughing seemed TO decide
the matter.
Moore took the portfolio from
him with gentle authority.
"It's Mrs. Seymour of Gilliflowel
place, isn't it? I'll make your cx
cuses. old fellow"
And he was going before Dor
rilon could express his thanks o.
plead any objection.
"This is just like Aubrey Moore,
caid the old lady earnestly. HHf