Cameron County press. [volume] (Emporium, Cameron County, Pa.) 1866-1922, 1900-08-30

lc"r DlNtulNo NhlCl hdI dJlI Ia
vorable attention at the annual exhi-
bitions of the Academy of Design, and
which the critics had spoken of as
"promising;" and thus it was that
the promise was as yet unfulfilled,
and that Sprague, though a man of
undoubted talent, was not likely ever
to rank as a genius in his profession.
Sturgis, with his keen insight into
human nature, fully realized the po-
tential capacities of the artist, and at
times he could not control his impa-
tience at his friends inert drifting
through life. But with all their diff
ferences, these two men held each
other in the highest esteem, each ad-
miring in the other those very quail
ties which were lacking in himself.
The artist lived in fashionable
quarter of the city, in a bachelor
apartment which included a large
and commodious studio fitted up ac-
cording to the latest canons of artis-
tic taste.
On this particular New Years
morning, after waking and observ-
ing, by the filtering of few bright
sunbeams through the closely drawn
blinds, that it was broad daylight, he
stretched himself with a voluptuous
yawn and prepared to relapse into the
sensuous enjoyment of that semi
somnolent state which succeeds a
night of calm and refreshing sleep.
just as he was settling himself
or % h1u hnxyavar ha Sf rt cd
by a knock at the bedroom door.
Most men, under the circumstances,
would have betrayed some veXation
at being thus unceremoniously dis
turbed. But there was no suspicion
of annoyance in Sprague's CHEEKY
voice as he exclaimed:
"You cannot come in yet, Mrs.
be asleep for another hour at the
least. Surely you cannot have forgot
ten that to-day is a holiday. Happy
New Year! You have time to go to
several masses before"
"Get up old lazybones; and don't
keep a man waiting at your door in
this inhospitable way, when he is in
d ldllS, lHiSil upleu ii NOiSC NhOSc
timbre was not that of the house
keeper, Mrs. O'Meagher.
"Oh! is that you, Sturgis? ?" laughed
the artist. Aren't you ashamed of
yourself to come routing honest men
out of bed at this unseemly hour?
Wait a minute, till l put on my court
costume, that | may receive you with
ha hAn +o
your rank and station"
A couple of minutes later the artist,
pituresquely attired in loose ORR
entail dressing gown and feZ, opened
the door to his friend, Ralph Sturgis.
Come in, old man." he said, cordial
ly extending his hand to the reporter;
you are welcome at any hour of the
day or night. What is it now? This is
not your digestion call, presume"
NO" replied Sturgis, 81 merely
dropped. in to say that l should be un-
able to take our projected bicycle trip
this afternoon. l shall probably be
busy with the Knickerbocker bank
case all day. By the way, if you would
like to come to the bank with me. I
y
on my way there now"
Il should like nothing better" said
Sprague, but l have made an ap-
pointment for this morning with "a
er-er-with a sitter"
What, on New Years day, you
heathen!"
Sturgis observed the artist closely,
nl fhan o1lal
accept my congratulations old
man"
Your congratulations" inquired
Sprague, coloring slightly.
Yes; my congratulations and my
coincidence. My congratulations on
the fact that she is young and beauti-
full, and possessed of those qualities of
mind ard heart which-and so on and
SO forth. Ny coincidence because 1
fear you are hit at last"
what do you mean?" stammered
the artist, sheepishly; "do you know
her? What do you know about her?"
Nothing whatever" replied Sturgis,
laughing, except what you are tell
ing me by your hesitations, your reti-
cence and your confusion"
The artist spoke after moment of
thoughtful silence.
"Your inductions in this case are
premature, to say the least. My sitter
is young lady,,so much is undeniably
true. And there is no doubt in my
mind as to her possession of all the
qualities you jocularly attribute to
her; but my interest in her is only
that of an artist in beautiful and
charming woman.
"At any rate" he added, after a mo-
ment's hesitation, Il hope so; for l
have heard that she is as good as be-
trothed to another man"
The reporters keen ear detected in
his friends tones touch of genuine
sadness of which the artist himself was
probably unconscious. Laying his
hand gently upon Sprague's shoulder,
he said, gravely:
hope SO, too, old man; for you are
one of those foolish men whose lives