The Newark journal., 1905-05-05

down to Wall street-literally. I 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 office-boy eyed him askance and consulted a typewriter. The young wom- an passed the problem up to Jones' pri- gate 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 lace. But when he exchanged a few words with the queer visitor he decided to take in his name. He came back with a surprised face and ushered Bamburs into the mahogany and leather sane tuary of The Boss
 'Goodmorning, MT Jones, said Hamburg, deprecatingly.
 'Good-morning, Mir Bamburg,' re- joined Jones' right cheerily.
 Mir. Jones, went on Bamburg, al- most progressively, I am in need of mon- ey. Perhaps l need hardly tell you so. You have money. 1. however, have genius, and 1 have projected upoR these canyases no insignificant part of the best that is in me. He tapped his ha..e. .fst upon his forehead and then OCT n!s heart
 Now, sir, the proposition Is tn.s: Will you exchange little of aour money for these efforts of my art? will not sir, condescend to appraise these children of my genius in collars. l 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 glaaces that fingered like earesses.
 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 a check and passed it across the table. Bamburg looked at it and took it like a gentleman and an artist. It was for S200. 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, MT. Jones, but as he said it, it was enough.
 In 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 tho a bfp Ia had in ho job wrinkled forehead. the sunk ell. smolder- 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 overcoat and the collar worn once too often. He had an inspiration.
 Would you do me a favor Mir. Bam- burg?' he asked.
 Hamburg would be delighted
 - will ask you Jones went on. to go direct from this office to my house on Fifth avenue and present these pie lures, with line which l will write, to my son. I intend them to be his Christmas present. and 1 think it will -ahem-add to the value of the gift if l 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- burg delivered the letter and the pie lures to Angelo in person Angelo showed me the letter later It was only a word or two, something like this:
 My Dear Boy: I send you these pictures because 1 believe they are won- 1erfully good. l desire to have you make the acquaintance, too. of MT Bam- burg, who painted them. Your fond old lad NJ. J.
 Angelo. being the son of a stock broker and a woman who nourished the lelusion that she had soul, took the esson. I believe. however, he is still n artist on a falling market "-N. Y. SGa.