Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1896-08-05
TALE OF A SIGN.

store of Atterbury Smith. Every New
Yorker knows the place and has heard the
story Of the rise of it's owner from the es-
tate of simple shoemaker to the proprie-
torship of the greatest leather goods bust
ness in the country.
One sultry afternoon In early spring
Lawrence Hubbub, perched high on the
top of stepladder, was laboring away
with his brushes. A motley crowd of men,
women and children stood gazing intently
at him as he evolved the scene by the sea.
The horses were done and fitted with
Smiths harness, and now he was laying
on the ocean and dotting it here and there
with sails.
And as he almost mechanically piled his
brush young Hubbub ran his mind back
over the events Of the year. He thought
of how he had returned from Paris almost
penniless and set about to fulfill his chosen
destiny-to follow art for arts sake. He
had intended that life to him should be
one tireless paint, and he would not starve
and study and paint for worldly applause
and honor, but for art. He would put all
his noble ideals on canvas and then die.
This had been his programme and doubt
less he would have carried it out had not
he, in an evil moment, been induced for
an hour to lay aside his brush and go to
one of Mrs. Atterbury Van Foam's literary
and artistic afternoons. There it was that
he met Ethelberta Van Foam, and from
that moment art took back seat in his
mental theater and sentiment and the al
mighty dollar occupied the front row.
Lawrence Hubbub was short of dollars,
and he doubted whether Ethelberta Van
Foam would consent to starve with him
through life that when ho died he would
leave behind him perfect work. He tried
to forget her and to labor on in the field
he had chosen, but he could not
Then one day Atterbury Smith came to
his rooms.
"A friend Of mine bought your picture
"A Modern Harvest, and / liked it," he
said. "You put life into those fellows who
are quitting down wheat with sickles, al
though confess thought the sickle was
little out Of date. I've been planning q
picture on the side of my store. want it
to be work Of art as we'll as an advertise
ment."
And then he unfolded to the astonished
artist his plans for the great sea scene.
But Hubbub refused. 1t would DO beneath
his dignity. Smith offered 81 900 instead
of $500, but Hubbub was obdurate. When
the leather man was gone, many conflict
ing emotions rent the forlorn painter.
That night he did not sleep, but next day
wrote and accepted the offer, and as he
heard his note drop in the letter box he
said half aloud:
"It is for her sake"
And thus love drove Lawrence Hubbub
from his easel to the stepladder.
"See here mister, de winds a-blowin
from two directions in dat picture"
Hubbub looked down from his perch at
the evil eyed lad, who, day after day had
sat on fire plug, watching the progress
of the work. The crowd laughed.
"Don't you see, painter" cried one of
three half drunken man-of-war's men, who
were Watching his work, "you've got two
ships sailin wing an wing in opposite d.
rectimsp''
What this meant Lawrence Hubbub did
not know. but he obviated the difficulty
with turn Of the BRUSH leaving but blue
ocean where the schooner had been scurry-
ing along before the stiff breeze. Then he
groaned inwardly. What indignities he had
descended to for her sake-that he might
have money, that he could throw himself
at her feet with at least $1,000 in his
pocket And so he painted ON and on and
never noticed the smart brougham that
wheeled up the street, swung into Broad
way and stopped in front of the store. A
young woman got out, tripped through the
! door that the boy obsequiously opened for
her and made her way back to the Office
"Why, my dear Ethelberta," cried At
terbury Smith as he placed chair for her
/ at his desk, II thought that you and your
mother had left town and forgot poor
old bachelor like me-.
The young woman protested that moth
ing was farther from her than to forget
her dear uncle, and she was sure he would
give her a check for pin money. The old
gentleman chuckled and quickly complied
with the request.
"But, my dear" he said, "you have
grown pale and worn of late. Has he
proved faithlessp''
II don't know who you are talking
about" cried the girl, blushing.
"That's just what don't know toe"
ohuckled the old gentleman.
ooh, now, do change the subject, uncle.
want to know do painters make much
money-artists, meanp"
Mr.. Smith removed his glasses and eyed
his niece blankly.
"Dear, DEAR he said, 'what ques-
tionl don't think artists make much,
but, as for painters, why, there's one on
my sign thatll get q cool 81 ,000."
"But don't mean common sign paint
ers. mean
The tramp of many feet and bedlam Of
cries came from the front Office. Mr..
Smith and his niece rushed out and saw
two policemen lay bleeding, paint covered
body on the floor.
"Good heavens, what has happenedr'
exclaimed the leather merchant.
cts the painter, sor," said one of the
| policemen. HE t'rowed brush at bye,
an the bye upset the ladder, an the young
Teller fell an lit on his head"
"Poor thing" said Ethelberta Van
| Foam, kneeling over the PROSTATE form,
and with her own handkerchief she began
| to wipe away the ocean blue from his face.
| The touch Of her hand seemed to revive
him, for he opened his eyes and muttered:
~ gave up everything for her-art and
| all-but-er-M Van Foam''
"Poor thingp' she repeated soothingly
as she cleaned of one cheek. "Who were
| you talking offn
"You," he Whispered, and she recognized
him.
Glance up at the big second story win.
dow Of the store as you ride up Broadway
some day. II 1t Is before p. IN. you will
see a spruce young man sitting there in a
private Office, usually debating letters. II
is Lawrence Hubbub, and he Is partner
in the firm. One Of his clerks, an anna.
| Aaur finished the niot,lra NoVu vork gn,,