Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1903-04-09
CHAPTER ".

Ana ne looked 70 MS strength LOT his
prey.
But the moon swept the smoke wreaths
away.
And he turned from his meal in the viii
layers close,
And he bayed to the moon as she rose
In Seonee.
"X a YELL, and how does success
AM taste?" said Torpenhow
" w some three months later.
He had just returned to
chambers after holiday in the coun-
try.
"Good," said Dick as he sat licking
his lips before the easel in the studio.
81 want more-heaps more. The lean
years have passed, and l approve Of
these fat ones"
'Be careful. old man. That way lies
bad work"
TorpenhoW was sprawling in a long
chair, with small fox terrier asleep
on his chest, while Dick was preparing
a canvas. A dais, background and
lay figure were the only fixed objects
in the place They rose from a wreck
of oddments that began with felt COW
cred water bottles, belts and regimen
tai badges and ended with a small bale
of secondhand uniforms and stand Of
mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet
on the dais showed that military mod
el had just gone away. The watery
| autumn sunlight was failing, and shad-
ows sat in the corners of the studio.
"Yes," said Dick deliberately, Il like
the power; like the fun; like the
fuss, and, above all, | like the money.
l almost like the people who make the
fuss and pay the money-almost. But
they're queer gang-an amazingly
queer gangv'
''They have been good enough to you,
at any rate. That tin pot exhibition of
your sketches must have paid. Did
you see that the papers called it the
Wild Work Show 2"
"Never mind. | sold every shred of
canvas wanted to, and on my word,
believe it was because they believed
was a self taught dagstone artist.
should have got better prices if | had
worked my things on wool or scratched
| them on camel bone instead of using
mere black and white and color. Verify,
they are queer gang, these people.
Limited isn't the word to describe
'em. met a fellow the other day who
told me that 1t was impossible that
shadows on white sand should be blue
-ultramarlne-as they are. found out
| later that that man had been as far as
Brighton beach, but he knew all about
art, confound him. He gave me lee
| ture on it, and recommended me to go
to school to learn technique. l wonder
what old Kami would have said to
| that"
"When were you under Kami, man
of extraordinary beginnings?"
81 studied with him for two years in
Paris. He taught by personal magnet
ism. All he ever said was, 'Continuez,
mes enfants,' and you had to make the
best you could of that. He had a divine
| touch, and he knew something about
color. Kami used to dream color.
swear he could never have seen the
genuine article, but he evolved it, and
it was good"
"Recollect some of those views in the
Sudan? said Torpenhow, with pro-
voking drawl.
Dick squirmed in his place. "Don't.
1t makes me want TO get out there
again. What color that was! Opal and
umber and amber and claret and brick
red and sulphur-cockatoo crest sui
phur-against brown, with niger
black rock sticking up in the middle of
| it all and a decorative frieze of camels
festooning in front of pure pale tur-
quoise sky" He began to walk up and
down. "And yet, you know, if you try
to give these people the thing as God
gave it keyed down to their comprehen-
sion and according to the powers he
has given YOU
"Modest man! Go on"
"Half dozen epicene young pagans
who haven't even been to Algiers will
tell you, first, that your notion is bor-
rowed and, secondly, that it isn't art"
"This comes of my leaving town for
month. Dickie, you've been prone
nading among the toyshops and hear
ing people talk"
81 couldn't help it," said Dick peni-
tently. "You weren't here, and it was
lonely these long evenings. A man can't
work forever
"a man might have gone to a pub.
and got decently drunk"
81 wish / had, but / foregathered
with some men of sorts. They said
they were artists, and knew some of
them could draw, but they wouldn't
draw. They gave me tea-tea at in
the afternoon!-and talked about art
and the state of their souls, as if their
souls mattered. I've heard more about
art and seen less of her in the last six
months than in the whole of my life.
Do you remember Cassavetti, who
worked for some continental syndicate
out with the desert column? He was a
regular Christmas tree of contraptions
when he took the field in full fig, with
his water bottle, lanyard, revolver,
writing case, housewife, gig lamps and
the Lord knows what all. He used to
fiddle about with 'em and show US how
they worked, but he never seemed to
uO LluCA SACepl luuS0 LIS ESpOAlS 1IOu
the Nilghai. See?"
"Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fat
ter than ever He ought to be up here
this evening. see the comparison per-
fectly. You should have kept clear of
all that man millinery. Serves you
right, and hope it will unsettle your
mind"
1T won't. It has taught me what art
holy. sacred art-means."
you've learned something while I've
been away. What is art?"
'Giye 'em what you know, and when
you've done it once do it again" Dick
dragged forward a canvas laid face to
the wall. Here's a sample of real art
It's going to be facsimile reproduc-
ton for weekly. called it His Last
Shot It's worked up from the little
water color made outside Ell Maghrib.
Well. lured my model, a beautiful
rifieman, up here with drink. / drored
him. and l redrored him, and ire
drored him, and made him a flushed,
disheyeled, bedeYiled scalawag, with
his helmet at the back of his head and
the living fear of death in his eye and
the blood oozing out of a cut oyer bis