Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1892-12-03
ONE ARTISTS MODEL.
How She Set Him on His Feet and H
Sad End.

How She Set Him on His Feet and Her
Sad End.
Hillary Bell in the Boston Globe.
Before mans work is established in value
among the picture buyers he has very often
great hardships. There are tragedies in the
studios that seldom get into the newspapers.
One Of our best known and most prosperous
portrait painters lived for months on the
meagerest fare when he came home from Paris,
too proud to let his friends know his straitened
circumstances and too little Of o business man
to dispose OF his sketches.
What little money he had was spent in hiring
a model. Had it not been for the quick wit
her employer would probably have starved.
One morning she came hurriedly into the
squalid stndio crying:
II have sold it. have sold it!'
''Sold what?" asked the young painter, look
ing YEARLY up from his canvas.
That sketch you made of me last week. con-
tinued the model, breathlessly. An old friend
of mine met me in the street just now and said
he would give $50 for picture Of me and
closed the bargain with him at once. Here is
the money Now will bundle up the sketch
and take it to him at once
Before the astonished artist could utter q
protest she had disappeared with the canvas.
a..
declaring that as she got the money she should
have the partial spending of it, seized IS bill
and rushed to the nearest restaurant where she
bought "A luxurious breakfast and had it sent to
the studio.
The painter and his friend had merry meal
together. 1t was his first stroke of good luck
since he came back from Paris, and it put such
fresh ambition INTO his brushes that he pres
emily obtained several commissions for pictures
and became comparatively prosperous.
In the exultation Of his success he quite for
got the poor girl who sold his first picture One
ton. grimy newsboy came to his studio and
whispered, hoarsely:
"Say, mister, she's a dyin'''
who is dying?" said the painter.
why" continued the youngster, ''her as
used ter stand fur her picter, see? She's dyin',
about yer name tibet thought as how I'd come
an tell We. An foun' out were We lived an
com. Ii We doano Were Cherry street is I'll
show We if We wants ter see her afore she
croaks."
Plotted by the newsboy the artist made his
way to the attic of q tenement in one Of the
poorest quarters Of the city. On mattress
stretched on the floor the model lay delirious in
the final stage Of consumption.
Sending the newsboy hurriedly for ply
stefan, the artist knelt by the girls side and
tried to recall her wandering senses. But the
usib WoiiillIl lookeu Ut Hlih pihiihiy tau tuFitt
away moaning some confused thought about
saving somebody's life.
"He was SO good and kind and loved him
30 until the grand ladies took him away from
me" she whispered. Maybe he has forgotten
me, maybe he has forgotten. But have got it
still, and when get well and can make some
money mean to get it framed"
few minutes later the poor creature threw
back her head and was still. As the painter
drew an end of the ragged coverlet over her
face he gave cry Of agony. The glazed eyes
Of the dead woman were staring ut a canvas
hung on the wall. 1t was the sketch she had
bought from him out of her meagcr earnings
when he was on the verge Of starvation.