Middletown transcript., 1895-10-05

In shirt waist which
had also faded, and was streaked,
but was scrupulously clean. The
shabby shoes and the frayed gloves
carried out the general impression OF
poverty.
She walked to small table in the
corner and sat down with certain
grim determination in her manner.
The very way she pulled her chair up
to the table was full of decision. The
way she dragged off her shabby
gloves and laid them to one side sug-
gested desperation. She read the
menu card over and gave her order to
Pierre quite distinctly. though in a
low tone. Then she leaned back, her
lips which lacked the ruddiness of
health, drawn closel y together.
"Queer-looking girl. ,that,' re-
marked the artist 10 his wife, as he
tossed up a salad.
eyes, isn't she?" remarked the ar
lists wife, nibbling an olive.
sShe doesn't look like the bohemian
Sort pursued he.
"She looks like-a-well, teacher
as far as her face goes a nd starving
milliner's assistant as regards clothes
and air." commented Mrs. Artist criti-
eally.
"She does seem hard-up, that's
fact"
Meantime Pierre placed the tureen
before the hungry-looking girl. The
aroma of soup floated on the air. The
girls transparently white face was
suffused with color for an instant as
she carried the ladle towards her soup
plate. Then there was little crash,
little cry and soup was trickling
down the shabby gown. The pale
faced girl had tainted.
They bore her to the little parlor,
and Mrs. Artist who was re cognized
authority at the Mazarin, because she
always dined there, unfastened the
frayed, stlf1y starched shirt collar
and ordered some sherry. The white
faced girl revived beneath the stimn-
liant and drew long-drawn shudder-
ing sigh. Then she INTERESTINGLY
took more of the wine the golden
haired woman was forcing upon her.
When she had recovered somewhat
the wise little wife of the artist for
bade her to speak.
when you have drunk this
BROTH" she said in the voice of a
commander-in-chief, "you may tell
me all about it."
The girl drank the broth obedient-
ly.
Now" said the artists wife, "what
does it all mean2"
The pink flush suffused the white
face again.
"I hadn't had anything to eat for
so long that was faint" whispered
the girl. And didn't have money to
pay for my dinner, and-hunger-and
fear-made me''-
"Yes, I see," nodded Mrs. Artist, as
though to be starving and a swindler
were natural occurrences. 81 see.
But how did it happen' Tell me in
just few words.''
'1'm a music teacher" faltered the
girl, s'and music student. Alone in
New York. Home in Ohio. Boarded
on Tenth street. Lost my pupils; lost
my money. Couldn't write home.
They're poor. Stopped taking my
meals in the house. Did chamber
work to pay for my room. Finally
didn't have cent. / couldn't bor-
row or beg for money, and I couldn't
earn any. It-it-I hadn't anything
to eat for three days, and made up
my mind to have one dinner if was
| put in Jail for it!''
I understand perfectly" said the
artists wife in the tone of one who
had frequently experienced starva-
tion. "Now come out and dine with
us, Miss?'''--
.'Miss Wylie," said the girl blush
ing.
"My DEAR" said the artists wife
that night, you are going to paint
picture of thin spiritual-faced,
shabby young woman teaching a
round, rosy little cherub the violin.
You are going to call it 1.-THE Music
Teacher and sell it to old Mr.. Van
Fanceer, who likes you, for 5000 or SO.
And you are going to give Miss Wylie
a hundred of those dollars for being
such perfect model for the subject.
Then she's going to spend the sum-
mer on an Ohio farm. Do you un-
derstandf' Perfectly, my love-" re-
piled the docile husband.
The French say sit is the impossible til
happens" This has proved to be the case