Chicago eagle. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1889-19??, 1893-02-04
claimed, taking from her hand the one
she was making a sad mess of.

dow.
"Well. I never could have forgiven
myself if hadn't-and there it was he
asserted dispassionately, laying the pulpy,
broken sphere of the orange before her
1t is quite a jaunt from Manhattan to
Manltou; but one morning they eX-
changed the cushioned WEAKNESS of the
train for that blue hollow of the hills,
with its gayly-colored roofs and gables
showing here and there up the canyon
like scattered troop of butterflies.
Then life became ore long breath of de-
light. What color there was The
earth seemed hung in some rarer medium
than common air The yellow cactus
blossoms were like flakes of flame. A
scarlet flower fairly burned into the
sight. Grace developed new enthus-
iasm every day, and piled her palette
with cobalt and chrome. Even Fleming.
who had preceded them, grunted out
now and then, ''Put in your loore pure.
Make her jump"
SO they painted from morning till
night, keeping two or three studies I'M
der way at once-putting in blues where
Woodson saw greens and puppies where
he saw nothing but nondeseript sand,
and doing all the inexplicable things that
should be done according to the gospel
of the administers.
Woodson sat by and chaffed. He
couldn't paint. He wouldn't smoke. He
parted Grace's occasional inquiring
glances by explaining that he was ne
gotiating to 60 into the cattle business
man was going to bring him herd on
trial.
Meanwhile he arrayed his shapely
figure in cowboyish top boots, blue shirt,
and SLOUGH hat, which became him i'm
mensely, and made sinister impression
among the blazers and tennis suits of
summering Manitou Grace was alb
sorbed ana satisfied. One day an idea
struck him. "Grace," said he, 81 found
little bit down here the other day that
I'd like to have you sketch-to send
home, you know. You'll do it, won't
youln
why, of course, I'll speak to Mr..
Fleming"
"Oh, hang Mr.. Fleming!" Woodson
broke in. Fleming is all right in his
way, but l want you-your sketch, you
know"
The place was quite a distance away,
over the mesa. They set out for it next
day
Here it is" Woodson exclaimed,
after long tramp, pointing over the
burning plain to where a row of cotton
woods were banked against the skv.
tremulous in the vibrant air. "There.
do that; call it "A Hundred in the Shade
or something like that"
1T doesn'tscem to compose very well, !"
Grace murmured, holding the tips of her
fingers together and incIosing the pic
ture in rosy frame through which she
gazed, half shutting her eyes in truly
artistic intentness.
"Well, never mind that; get the char
acter of it. You know Fleming says the
characters the thing. That's what
want-the character-the true character
OF this beastly country
So Grace donned her big blue apron
and set to work with her biggest brushes.
But somehow she had trouble. The
quality of that sky, burning with light
and yet deep in hue did not seem to re-
side In cobalt, however fresh from the
tube. The value of the stretch of plain.
tremulous under the tlaring heavens. dis
turbed her, too, and when she came to
put in the airy wall of cottonwoods along
the horizon the whole thing ended in
PANTY muddle.
"Oh, | can't do anything today"
Grace exclaimed, petulantly, wiping her
troubled brow with the back of her hand
aud leaving streak along her forehead
that intensified her puzzled look.
why don't you put those trees in
green n Woodson asked with serious
concern, as Grace renewed her struggle
with the regulation blues and purple.
''But don't see them So" she muir
INJURED, in moment of absorbed effort.
'Grace. he blurtcd out almost before
he knew it, Il don't believe you see any
thing. Excuse me, but | don't believe
you ever did l don't believe in your
art; don't believe in your career;
don't believe in your independence.
You're simply spelling the incest girl in
the world with it. You see everything
through Fleming's eyes. You see things
blue and purple because he does; and
newell, he sees things that way because
some fellows over in Paris do, and |
don't believe in it, There, now, I've
said it, come"
But it was not arranged that he should
finish what he had to say. He had
looked down to the ground where he sat
as he spoke of Fleming. When he
looked up Grace was several feet away
from him, hurrying down the hill, with
her head bowed.
I'm a brute--a miserable brute -
Woodson remarked to himself with con
siderable force, as he watched her strid-
ing toward the half-dry creek. "But
some one ought to have told. Her art is
all foolishness. Look ut Fleming
even. He's 40, and I'd like to know
where he'd be if it wasn't for his teach
ing. But I'm brute, just the samoa
heartless brute"
There was plum thicket along the
creek, and after watching Grace disap-
pear within it WoOdson set about pick
ing up her sketching kit This done. il
occurred to him that 1t would be a proper
penance on bis part 20 wash her brushes
-he bad always hated dirty brushes so.
Gathering them zap he started toward the
ar...L 49,. -.