Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1900-07-26
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SYLVIA AND THE ARTIST.

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Tho sun was high In the heaven,
thai pleasant May afternoon, and its
mellowed rays streamed through the
curtains behind the head of the young
girl whose blond curls were dropping
over the closely written pages before
her, and touched its outlines with
golden fingers. She was rather pale
little girl of perhaps II; girl who
evidently studied hard and played but
little.
81 don't believe she said aloud. a.
she drew back and surveyed the sheets
before her critically, Il don't believe
/ can make that read a bit smoother.
It's told as simply as | can tell it, and
simplicity is what the editor of the
Ell Dorado wants. I've looked up all
the hard words in the dictionary, and
I've done my best to make it gram
nautical. -Four times I've read it, and
I don't believe there is a
mistake in 1t. And now if could only
have it type written and get two or
three pictures for it I'm sure it would
be a CO." She paused and reflected.
1T wouldn't cost much to have it
typewriter, but where am | to get
the pictures-and the editor seemed
TO lay so much stress on having them.
He said the choice of the winner Of
the 500 for the best told story would
be greatly influenced by the addition
Of two or more illustrations. But
where can | get them?'
She leaned her head on her hand in
a quaint, old-fashioned way and silent
ly communed with herself. Once she
shook her head vehemently, then she
nodded several times, and finally said
"I'll do it,"
Picking up her manuscript, she
carefully placed it between some
blank leaves of paper and drew a rub
Der band around it, Then she put on
her hat and, talking up her precious
package, ran quickly and quietly down
the stairs.
Sylvia Jones was good walker. and
presently she halted at the entrance
Of modern down town block. She
hesitated a little before she could
muster up enough courage to go in,
Perhaps she would have walked away
II the package of manuscript hadn't
slipped into sight. That was the
bracer she needed. She walked into
the hallway and straight to the ele-
vator doors.
"Mr Freneau's studio" she said, AIS
she stepped into the car A moment
later she found herself at the door OF
the artists apartments.
Again she hesiItated but she raped
IN the door. "Come i'm cried deep
roice. Sylvia pushed open the door.
The famous illustrator was at work
|. ..e farther end of the room, and for
! moment did not look up. When he
lid he saw a slender girl dressed in
black, a fluff Of blonde hair about her
oale face, and two blue eyes looking
It him appealingly. He Strengthened
Up little.
"Good afternoon" said Sylvia.
"Yes," said the illustrator. "Well?"
Sylvia thought his voice was rough,
md yet there seemed to be a softer
one running through it. His hair
vas rough, too, and his black eyes
we're sharp behind their glasses.
"lf you are Mr.. Freneau," said Syl-
ia, 81 want you to do me a favor
The great artist snorfed slightly.
Autographs
mo-" said Sylvia.
The specialized eyes wandered back
o the slanted drawing room; the
lender fingers added a stroke here
nd there. Then the left arm was
aised and the hand seemed to beckon
o her. Sylvia walked forward until |
he reached lhe drawing board.
"sit down Sylvia took Il chafr
hat stood close by the artist and |
raited. In a moment or two he leaned |
ack and laid his pen down. Then he
,okcd around at his visitor.
ooh, yes" he said. His long fingers
dvaneed and lie slowly touched the
eeve of her black frock.
"Mother?"
Yes replied Sylvia, as a hard sob
rose in her throat but she ehoked it
own. "Three months ago"
The slender fingers stroked her
eeve softly and then withdrew.
"Well, what can | do for your
Sylvia summoned up all her cour-
re.
81 have come here, Mr.. Frenau," she
id, "to ask you to illustrate a story
have written"
The great artist gave another little
ort and stared at her.
"eo9' he said.
"Yes," continued Sylvia. II have the
DRY with me-"
"Well?"
"Shall I begin at the beginning
ked Sylvia.
yes" replied the artist. ut can't
very far back" And he actually
Tiled.
SWELL" said Sylvia, 81 have always
d a taste for scribbling, ard all the
achers thought | showed signs OF
lent. | wrote little sketches, and
ee wrote dialogue that was given
reral times in school. ] love to
lite, but ! didn't think of writing
ything serious until mamma died,
d then | knew her long sickness
st papa so much that I felt that ]
lst try and earn something to help
n. So wrote this story. You sec
, editor of the FL Dorado offer
yee &100 daUn IN @1n and tbouuhI