Waterbury evening Democrat., 1905-02-25


 worked. Y; He, got his pictures shown. He sold good many. But he never had any business instinct He never seemed to get ahead of the game. He was always fighting poverty and debt. He was often in actual want.
 After awhile the struggle wore him out. Discouragemen crushed him and he became the dealers hack he was when he died.
 "Yet he was most charming fellow. I remember one New Years eve he came to my office. was bachelor then and prescribed in the back parlor of fur nished room house. He asked me If had some hot water and said had a gas stove and kettle. Then he hauled out of one pocket of his long rusty over coat two beautiful eggs and out of the other a bottle of bourbon whisky. l borrowed a tumbler of milk from tha landlady and he brewed egg-nogg. He handled the vessels and the ingredients so tenderly that it almost brought tears to my eyes to see him do it.
 q wondered what the meaning of the treat was and I wasn't much wiser when he told me that it was through me that he had just made $2O0. He didn't seem inclined to explain and I wondered vaguely whether he had used my mug for model in some picture he had sold. He put the subject out of my head by beginning to talk about art, and when he talked about art no one could do any thing but listen.
 q found out later how had helped him. It was his last flicker of good luck. by the way. About month earlier, az l recall, had advised him to take soIne of his work to Midas Jones. whom he had met often in the days when his ca reer seemed full of promise, and who, besides being really good-hearted man. was always vain of his reputation as a picture buyer You should have seen some of the pictures he bought.
 Well, after hesitating for nearly q month, old Bamburg at last found him. self in a desperate hole. Extremity gave him courage. He tucked a couple of his sketches under his arm and walked down to Wall street-literally. have seen the things many time since. They are exquisite. They are actually in- spired believe they are the best work old Bam ever did. <.
 "The off1ce-boy eyed him askance and consulted typewriter. The young wom- an passed the problem up to Jones' pri- vate secretary. The private secretary sized up the very shabby gentleman, the shapeless, soft felt hat, the long, rusty overcoat, the gloveless hands, blue with cold, clasping the pictures tied face to face. But when he exchanged a few words with the queer visitor he decided to take in his name. He came back with surprised face and ushered Bambury into the mahogany and leather sanc- tuary of The Boss
 'Good-morning, Mr. Jones' said Bamburg, deprecatingly.
 "'Good-morning. MT. Bamburg. re- joined Jones, right cheerily.
 MT. Jones' went on Bamburg, al- most aggressively, I am in need of mon- ey. Perhaps l need hardly tell you SD. You have money. I, however. have genius, and | have projected upon these canvases no insignificant part of the best shat is iH me He tapped his hand first upon his forehead and then over his heart.
 Now, sir, the proposition is this: Will you exchange a little of your money for these efforts of my art? will not, sir, condescend to appraise these children of my genius in dollars. I will take whatever you choose to give.
 He had stood them on the seats of two chairs, leaning against the backs and turned into favorable lights. He picked them up one after the other and held them before Jones. contemplating them himself also with glances that fingered like caresses
 Jones was no fool. He knew enough even about pictures to feel that the things were wonders The broken man of genius moved him, too. He sat down and wrote check and passed it across the table. Bamburg looked at 1t and took it like a gentleman and an artist. It was for $200. a fortune to him: he had expected perhaps $50 at the most he had long been in the hands of deal- CTS. All he said was Thank you. Mir. Jones. but as he said it. it was enough. Tn the moment when he turned to go the scheme of cunning and essential bru- tality flashed into the brain of Midas Jones.
 Jones had been studying him across the table. He had taken in the high, wrinkled forehead. the sunken. smol6er- ing eye. the peony nose. the thin. leath- cry cheeks. the dusty hair. the thin beard. the stopped. emaciated figure. the hands still blue from the cold. the shapeless hat on the table by him. the long. rusty oyercoat and the collar worn once too often. He had an inspiration.
 Would you do me favor, Mir. Bam- burg?' he asked.
 Hamburg would be delighted.
 "I will ask you Jones went on. to go direct from this office to my house on Fifth avenue and present these pic lures. with line which I will write. to my son. intend them to be his Christmas present. and think it will -ahem-add to the value of the gift if I at the same time make him acquainted with the artist whose admirable skill produced them. He thinks of being an artist. too
 Tn the simplicity of his heart. Bam-