Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1891-06-12
UNCLE FLAXLEY'S HOBBY,
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

The white, vertical light of Feb.
ruary day shone down through the sky
light of Julian Dover's studio, its pitiless
brightness bringing out every layer of
dust on the Venetian red draperies, every
spot and stain on the much benicked
walls.
The lay figure was doubled up in a
most impossible attitude against big
chair, covered with cotton velvet and
cheap gilt fringe; bunch of faded roses,
in an old "crackle" vase, hung Imply
down, and Mr.. Dover, in shabby
plum-colored velvet coat, and Turkish
fez perched jauntlly on one side of his
handsome head, was painting desperately
away, intent on economizing every Sec.
ond of the precious wint.r daylight.
"Oh, the deucel" he exclaimed, alb
ruptly. "What made you jump SO,
Claries A man don't want the current
of his ideas disturbed just when"
The model lifted her large, wine
brown eyes to his face, with a depreca-
tory smile.
II hear Kitty Flaxley outside" said
she.
"Outside she must stay, then" re-
marked Mr.. Dover, frowning at his pal
ette. 81 can't be interrupted; every
minute is lump of gold. Waitl" he
roared, as gentle rapping sounded on
the door. "Clarie is posing for mel"
And then one perceived slight,
graceful figure in coarse lilac cotton
gown, and striped handkerchief care
lessly twisted around her rich, brown
locks, leaning in an artistic attitude
against window-sash studded with
many small panes, that was supported be-
tween two standards.
Her fingers were intertwined in her
hair; her elbows rested on the sill, where
q coarse ficwer-pot or two were ranged
She was not Mrs. Julian Dover for the
time being; she was "The Fisherman's
Wife," destined b. good luck and the
grace of the hanging committee to figure
i'll the forthcoming spring exhibition.
sob, Julian, am SO tired" she
pleaded. ''Every bone in me is cramped.
Mayn't resta"
s'You've no idea of true art" said
Julian, slowly. ''You haven't posed
half an hour yet"
"I'm SO sorry; but"
slump, then" said the painter-for
the first time realizing how pale and
worn the delicate, oval face was. II
suppose can be putting In the distant
sea while you gossip with your Kitty"
He caught her hand as she skipped
past him, and kissed her-a kiss which
was rich reward for all the cramp and
WEAKNESS she had endured-and she ran
out to the hall, tugging as she went to
remove the knotted red silk neckerchief
which supplied an element Of warm color
to the picture.
There stood her quondam schoolmate,
Kitty Flaxley, with CHEEKY lips and spar
king eyes.
"Oh, Claire, how odd you look" said
she.
''Yes," said Mrs. Dover, colnposedly.
"I'm 'The Fisherman's Wife Every
bone in me is separate pain, with sit
ting SO long watching for my husband s
boat"
Both laughed; and then the artists
wife led Miss Flaxley into the studio,
where Julian nodded pleasant saluta-
ton to her.
''You won't expect me to stop work.
inga" said he.
''Of course noti" said Kitty. "It's
work that I've come to talk about. Such
news as I've got! The family fortunes
are all made. Our Uncle Flaxley came
home yesterday. That is, he isn't our
uncle-hes only sort of cousin; but
mamma naturally wants to make the re-
lationship as near as possible; so we arc
all instructed to call him uncle"
"And who is Uncle Flaxley2"
''That's just it," said Kitty, laughing.
"He went to the South Sea Islands,
thirty years ago, and people took no no.
tice at all of his exit except to say some
thing about good riddance to bad rub
bish.' He comes back, and you would
think him canonized saint. Nothing
is good enough for him."
"Oh" said Dover. Giles made
money!"
Exactly" nodded Kitty. "But he's
the oldest old fish-a little, dried-up,
parchment-face man, who goes about
finding fault with everything and every
body, and promulgatiug the most out
landish theories that ever were heard Of
The first thing he did was to upset all
our family traditions. You know, Claire,
how mamma has brought us up-like the
lilies of the field, that toll not, neither
do they spin2 Now, we are each of us
to learn a trade. I'm going into dress
making"
'Impossiblel" cried the artists wife.
"Theodora is going to tackle art EN-.
broidery. Constantine says she hasn't
decided yet between teiegrapAy ani