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

TO put on the canvas. Why was ii that b.
sat for hours together helpIessly starinf
at IT? His friends supposed him wrapped IL
his subject, working under a high pressure
and considerably left him alone; the,
would nave marveled greatly had they seer
him glewerins modify at the merest study
of the subject he had described so vividl,
to them, smoking countless packs of cigar
cites, hardly lifting his hand from hi:
chair arm.
Once he threw down a handful of brushes
and started out for a tramp. 1t occurred
to him that the city sights and smells. the
endless hum and roar, the rapid pace OF
the crowded streets would tone him UP and
set his thoughts in a new line: he was tired
Of the whistling gales and tossing trunks
and booming surf that haunted his nights
and confused his days. A block away from
the studio a flower-woman met him with a
| tray of dafrodils and late crocuses. A sud.
| den puff Of wind blew out her scant. thin
skirt: a tree in the center of the park they
were crossing bent to it, the branches
| creaked family. The fresh, earthly odor
| of the lowers moved him strangely. He
bought a bunch. turned. and went back to
the Stu0lOs u ~ " al HOoA SoLAh6 A6it-
lessly ahead Of him.
Suddenly he started up and approached
| the sketch. "It wants wind" he muttered
half unconsciously. and fell to work. Ar
hour passed, two, three-he still painted
| rapidly. Just as the light was fading a
| thunderous knock at the door ushered in
| the two men HI knew best. He nodded
| vaguely, and they crossed the room in ST
lence and looked at the picture. For a few
| moments no one spoke. Presently Willard
took a brush from his mouth and faced
them.
"Well?" he said.
The older man shook his head. "Queer
sky!' he answered briefly.
The younger looked questioningly at Will
lard. You'll have to get a gait on you If
you hope to beat Morris with that" he
said. whats UP, Willard? Don't you
want that prize?"
"Of course 1 do His voice sounded dull,
even to himself. "You aren't any too SYM
pathetic, you fellows" he tried to feel
injured.
The older man came nearer. Whats that
white thing there? Good Lord. Will. you're
not going to try a figure"
Willard brushed rapidly over the shad-
owy outline. ''No-that was just a sketch.
The whole things just a sort Of
1.-THE whole things just a bluff" inter-
rupted the younger man decidedly. Its
not what you told us about at all-and it's
not good, anyway. 1t looks as if a ornad
had struck it, You said 1t was to be late
afternoon-it's nearer midnight, as far as 1
can see! What that tree lying around
for?"
His tone was abusive, but a genuine con-
Germ and surprise was underneath 1t. He
looked furtively at his older friend behind
Willard's back. The other shook his head
expressively.
willard bit his lip. IT only wanted to
try-it won't necessarily stay that way"
he explained. He wished he cared more
for what they said. He wished they did
not bore him so unspeakably. More than
all he wished they would go.
The younger one whistled softly. pretty
late in the day to be making up your mind,
1 should say" he remarked. "when's it
going to dry in? Morris has been working
like a horse on his for six weeks. He's
coming on, too-splendid color!"
Willar lit a cigarette. "D-n Morris!"
he said casually. The older man drew on
his glove n turned to go.
'Oh. certainly he replied. cheerfully.
by all means! No, we can't stay-we only
dropped in. We juststhought we'd see how
you were getting along. If I were you,
Will, I'd make up my mind about that in
toxicated tree and set it up straight-good-
bye!"
They went out cheerfully enough. but he
knew they were disappointed and hurt
they had expected so much from that pic
ture. And he wished he cared more. He
looked at it critically. OF course, it was
bad, but how could they tell what he had
been doing? 1t was the plan of months
changed utterly in three hours. The result
was ridiculous, but he needed 1T no longer
he knew what he wanted now, what he had
been Sighting against all these days. He
would paint 1t If he could-and till he could.
The insistent artist passion to express even
bunglingly something Of the uncomfortable
beauty of that strange night was on him
and before the echo Of his guests depar-
ture had died away he was working as he
had never worked before, the old picture
lying unnoticed in the corner where he had
thrown il.
He needed no mOOelS, he old not use MS
studies. Was it not printed on his brain,
was it not cut into his heart, that weird
vision of the storm, with the floating fairy
creature that hardly touched the earth?
Was there a lovely curve in all her melting
postures, which slipped like water circles
into new shapes, that he did not know?
That haunting elfike look, that ineffably
exquisite abandon, had he not studied it
greedily then In the wood and later in his
restless dreams? The trees were s~entient,
the bushes put out clasping fingers to de-
tain him, the wind shrieked out its angry
soul at him, and she, the white wonder
with her floating wisps of singing hair,
had Joined with them to mock at him., the
startled witness of that mad revel of all
the elements. He knew all this-he was
drunk with It; could he paint it? Or would
people see only a strange-eyed girl dane
ing in a wood?
He did not know how many days he had
been at work on It; he ate what the clean
ing woman brought him, his face was
bristled with a stubbly growth. the cigar
ette-boxes strewed the floor. Men appeared
at the door and he urged them peevishly
to go away; people brought messages and
he said he was not in town and returned
the notes unread. In the morning he smiled