Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1902-03-22

from the corner of the studio,
"Oh, Thatch!"
"What is it?" growled Thatcher,
shifting his easel and fumbling over a
pile of twisted tubes. He was thin and
pale but for the patch of red on his
cheek; his eye was dilated and fever
ish what is it Hector?" he repeated.
"Ain't mad are your" chirruped Hec-
tor, coming out from the screen be-
hind which he had been washing
dishes.
"Mad? No; why should l be mad? ?"
Pm going to ask you a delicate
question, that's all, Thatch?"
'Well?"
''Saw Brownlow last night at the ex-
hibition," PARTED Hector, wiring a
plate.
mo question about that" muir
INJURED Thatcher, lolling back and
squirting at his picture.
"Well, don't fly off now, Thatch. He
asked me to ask you if you't take a
thousand dollars for"
"For what?" The painter turned
quickly and there was hard, challeng-
ing note in his words and manner.
"For The Chrysanthemum,' an
swered Hector, pausing in his dish
wiping and looking pleadingly at his
| friend.
Thatcher had turned back to his
easel. He was biting his thin lip. His
hand was trembling, but there was no
irresolution in the frown upon his pale
| forehead
what do you mean by asking me
such a question:" asked the painter,
without turning,
Mean? Why do I ever mean? l
think it's a good price; know you
need the money; you haven't anything
else finished. Brownlow is the richest
amateur in New York. Mean? just
mean that you ought to take it. Sell
The Chrysanthemum.' When she
comes over if she comes, you can paint
another for yourself; if she don't"
"Shut up, Hector!" roared Thatch-
er!" painting furiously so that the
thrum of his brush could be heard in
the still room. Then after long
pause: ST won't sell it-hear that
| Hector"
The painter got up, lighted a cigar
cite and stood before the only finished
! picture on his dreary walls. 1t was of
woman, yellow-haired and smiling
her blue eyes luminous in the halt
light, her gloved hand lolling across
the edge of a cafe table. Hector
whistled softly and disappeared be
hind the screen. Thatcher, rapt and
hectic, stood staring at The Chrysan
themum." Then the friend came forth
wiping his hands, patient, CHEEKY, the
picture of health. He plunged his
strong fingers into a bucket of model
ing clay. and with stray glances at
Thatcher's work, sang softly to him.
self. For half an hour they worked in
silence, the painter resting now and
then as II weary, the sculptor, aproned
and alert, whistling or singing, in the
exuherance of health and hope.
"Thatch." he said at last, winkine
slyly at the lay figure on his table
"lend me $40, Thatch?"
81 haven't got So" said the painter
starting.
hector WnlStieu La PalOma' FOL
two minutes. Then:
"Thatch, you're getting extrava
CANT"
Thatcher struck his brush handl,
into the jardiniere of sand, folded hi
thin hands and with a wistful smil,
turned on his friend.
Hector" he began. I'D better tel
you before we get 20 misunderstood
ing each other. You know I've beer
doing pretty well since she Koeller ex
hibit. I've sold over 81, 900 worth, yol
know. But I can't lend you $40 be
cause-fact is, Hector, I've sent il al
to The Chrysanthemum.' Her las
letter said she'd leave Paris on tn,
10th. She'll be here New Years day
When she's here it'll be time enough
TO sell Browplow the picture. I'll nee,
the thousand all right and I'll hav
her"
HA~@0w Auwu "A ~4v.4yw "a L. 81.