The Winslow mail., 1901-01-10

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 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 a 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
comfortably, however, he was startled
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 Spragues CHEEKY
voice, as he exclaimed:
"You cannot come in yet, Mrs.
O'Meagher. 1 am asleep, and l shall
be asleep for another hour at the
least. Surely you cannot have forgot
ten that to-day is 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
a hurry" interrupted voice whose
timbre was not that of the house
keeper, Mrs O'Meagher.
ooh! 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 minute, till put on my court
costume, that [ may receive you with
the honors and ceremonies due to
| your rank and station"
A couple of minutes later the artist,
pituresquely attired in a loose ori-
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, Ipresume."
NO." replied Sturgis, 81 merely
dropped in to say that should be un-
able to take our projected bicycle trip
this afternoon. I 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,
shall be glad of your company. l am
on my way there now"
81 should like nothing BETTER" said
| Sprague, 'but [ 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,
and then added, quizzically:
accept my congratulations old
man."
your congratulations? inquired
Sprague, coloring slightly.
Eyes; my congratulations and my
coincidence. My congratulations on
the fact that she is young and beauti
full, and possessed of those qualities of
mind and heart which-and so on and
so forth. My 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 a 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.
SAT any rate,' he added, after mo-
ment's hesitation, 81 hope so; for
have heard that she is as good as be-
trothed to another man."
The reporters keen ear detected in
his friends tones a 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
can be ruined by an unhappy love af-
fair. I suppose it's useless to preach
to you-more's the pity-but, in my
humble opinion, no woman's love is
worth the sacrifice of a good mans
life
''Yes, 1 know your opinion on that
subject, you old cynic," replied
Sprague, ''but you need not worry on
my account; not yet, at all, events. l
am still safe; the portrait is almost
finished; and | should be fool to walk
into such a scrape with my eyes wide
open"
''Humph!" calculated Sturgis, skep-
tically, when man makes fool of