The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-05-06

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the stand beside him. Look out, you fool,
it's wet!' he growled. The older man pat
ted his shoulder.
"AIl right. boy. all right" he said sooth-
ingly. IT'S all done now-never mindr'
They shouldered it out of the door while
he pulled the terriers ears.
"Where you going?' they called.
Turkish bath. Restaurant. Vaudeville -
he answered, and they nodded.
'All alone?"
Eyes. thanks. Drop in tomorrow"
And drive like thunder!." he heard
them through the open window.
A week later he was walking up Broad
way between them, shifting the fresh sweet
air comfortably, the terrier at his heels. At
intervals they read him bits from the en-
thusiastic m of the critics.
"Mr. Willard, whose 'Windfower' dis
tanced all competitors and won the Minot
prize by a unanimous verdict Of the judges.
has displayed aside from his thorough mas
terry of technique a breath of atmosphere.
an imaginative range rarely if ever
equaled by an American. Nothing but the
work itself, so manifestly idealistic in
subject and treatment, could convince us
hat it is not a study from life, so keen,
so haunting is the impression produced by
the remarkable figure of the Spirit of the
Gale, who seems to sink before our eyes
on the falling trunk, literally riding the
storm. In direct contrast to this abandon
Of the figure is the admirable reticence of
the background. which is keyed so Low
Willard stopped abruptly before the win
dow of a large art establishment where a
photograph of the picture was already dis
played. 81 want one Of those" he said,
land I'm going out in the country for a
bit before l sail, I think"
"Oh. back there?" they asked comprehen-
sively.
Eyes, back there!"
AS the train rushed along he explained
to himself why he was going-why he had
not merely sent the photograph. He wanted
to see her, to brush away the cloud of ilu-
sion that the weeks had spun around her.
He wanted to realize definitely the diff
ference between the pale, silent, uniformed
New England girl and the fascinating per-
sonality of his picture. Ever since he left
her they had grown confused, these two
that his common sense told him were so
different, and he was beginning to dread
the unavowed hope that for him, at least,
they might be some day one. The same
passionate power that had thrown mystery
and beauty into color on the canvas wove
sweet, wild dreams around what he con-
temptuously told himself was little better
than a lay figure, but he yielded to 1t now
as he had then.
When he told himself that he was going
purposely to hear her talk, to see her fiat,
unlovely figure, to appreciate her utter lack
of charm, of ali vitality. he realized that it
was a cruel errand. But when he felt the
sharp thrill that he suffered. even in antici-
patton, as his quick Imagination pictured
the dream cloud dropping off from her. &C
tually before his eyes, he believed the jour-
ney more thar ever a necessary one.
AS he walke UP the little country street
his heart beat fast; the greening lawns, the
fresh faint odors, the ageless
appeal Of the spring stirred his blood and
thrilled him inexpressibly. He was yet in
the first flush of his success; his whole ma
ture was relaxed and sensitive to every joy;
he let himself drift on the sweet confused
expectancy, the delicious folly. the hope
that he was to find his dream, his inspira-
ton, his spirit of the wind and wood.
A child passed him with a great bunch OF
daffodils and stopped to watch him long
after he had passed, wondering at the sill
yer in her hand.
At the familiar gate a tall, thin woman's
figure stopped his heart a second, and as a
ftful gust blew out her apron and tossed
her shawl over her head he felt his breath
come more quickly.
Good heavensi' he muttered, what fol-
ly. Am 1 never to see a woman's skirt
blown without"
She put the shawl back as he neared her.
1t was Mrs. Storrs's sister She met his
outstretched hand with a blank stare. SUD-
denly her face twitched convulsively.
20 Mr.. Willard! o Mr.. willard!" she
cried, and burst into tears.
The wind blew sharper, the elm tree near
the window creaked. a dull pain grew in
him.
"What is 1t? What's the matter?' he
said brusqueiy.
at suppose you amt heard-you wouldn't
be apt tor she sobbed, and, pushing back
the locks the wind drove into her Redeemed
eyes. she broke into incoherent sentences.
He heard her as one in a dream.
And she would go-'twas the twenty
ffth-there was dozens O. trees blown down
twas just before dark-her mother, she
ran out after her as soon's she knew-she
called. but she didn't hear-she saw her on
the edge o. the rocks an she almost got up
to her an screamed. an IT scared her, we
~think-she turned round quick. an she
went right of the lin-an' her mother saw
her go-'twas awful"
WIZARDS eyes went beyond her to the
woods; the woman's voice, with its high.
fiat intonation brought the past 90 wildly
before him that she was unconscious OF
the actual scene-he lived through the
quick. terrible drama with the intensity Of
. witness Of It.
mo, they haven't found her yet-the
--M- - 49,