The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1905-07-13
MAS As ONE IN A DREAM.
BY MYRTLE REED.
A CRISIS IN THE CAREER OF JOE
HAYWARD.


who know everything, were at loss
Hayward himself worked hard; study.
ing the masters, patiently correcting
faults in color and perspective, and
succeeding after a fashion. But he
felt that art, in its highest and best
sense, was utterly beyond him. there
was haunting elusive something
which was continually out of his
reach
Occasionally, when he sold a pic.
ture, he would give "a time to a
dozen artist chums from studios near
by, as they did whenever fortune fav.
ored them: after which he would paint
again on and on, with a really tre-
mendous perseverance.
At length he obtained permission to
make an exhibition of his work in a
single room at the Art Gallery. The
pictures were only ten in number, and
some of them were small, but they
represented hard years work. When
he superlntended the hanging, on Sat
urday morning, he was more nearly
happy than he had ever been in his
life. The placard on the door, The
Hayward Exhibition Will Open Mon
day" filled him with pleasure. 1t was
not conceited feeling of Importance,
but rather a happy consciousness that
ae had done his best
At last he was suited with the ar
rangement. The man went out with
che ladder and wire, and he stood in
the center of the room, contemplating
The result. The landscape in the cor
aer might be little out of drawing,
ne thought, but the general public
would not notice that. And the wo-
nan in white beside it, which he had
,hristened Purity" certainly showed
o very good advantage He remem-
oered very well the day he had put
he finishing touches upon it, after the
light Of revelry in which he had
helped Jennings and dozen other
elbows from neighboring studios to
Celebrate the sale of Jennings's Study
II a Head" and how he had thought
At the time that he, who spent such
nights, had no business to paint
igure like this of Purity"
As he turned to leave the room. he
'aw gray gowned young woman,
Who evidently did not know that the
pictures were not as yet upon pubic
Jew. She passed him as she came in,
With rustic of silken skirts and a
ooling odors Of violets. Seeing the
ey of the room in his hand, she
urned to him and said:
pardon me, but can you tell me
yhose pictures these are?'
'These are Hayward's," he replied.
Hayward she repeated after him,
II the name were wholly new to
er.
Hayward is a young artist and of
urely local reputation" he explained
This is his first public exhibition"
She surveyed the collection without
ny strong show of pleasure, until he
emarked, you don't seem to think
luch of his beginning"
She was prompt in her answer. mo,
do not They seem to lack some
hing."
He sighed inwardly. That old, old
something" Haywards pictures all
,acked something as was commonly
id of them; but what that something
as, his intlmates his fellow artists,
ere not the kind to know.
What is it, do you think?" he
jked
81 don't know" she replied slowly
4 one knew the man, one might be
lie to tell"
For the first time she looked him
I'll in the face He saw nothing but
IF eyes, clear and honest, reading
m through and through.
Yes" he answered, ''if you knew
70 man, think you could tell"
I'm not at all sure" she laughed.
is only fancy of mine"
Drawing a watch from her belt, she
oked surprised and turned away He
itened until the silken rustic had
'mpletely ceased. Then lie too went
It. On the stair he found hand
'rchief. 1t was edged with lace, deli.
.tely scented with violet, and min.
ely marked in the corner: Con
ance Grey"
On Sunday night the studio building
here Hayward and others painted
owed with light. The mOrrow's
'ening of "The Hayward Exhibition"
is being celebrated with "a time"
the expense of the artist. Glasses
mixed and the air was heavy with
noke. Two women from vaudeville
reatre near by made merry upon an
npromptu stage. Everybody was
appy except Hayward. The owner of
e handkerchief was in his mind. He
1t that those eyes of hers gray, deep
I'd tender though they were might
'aze with anger at scene like this.
he handkerchief had no place in such
/ atmosphere. He went over TO his
ookcase and put it between tie leaves
I his Tennyson, smiling as he caught
'e words on the opposite page:
\ man had given all other bliss
nd all his worldly worth for this:
d waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips"
Her handkerchief would feel more