The daily morning journal and courier., 1906-03-17
STORY OF AN ARTIST.

This is a true story. About a dozen years ago young artist came to New York to cast his lot in the great me- troplis, where so many of his im- questionable fellows had succeeded and so many had failed. He had lit- tie money, so he went to one of the cheaper hotels in the Bowery-not one of the cheapest for there the lodgers all bunk in one large room, whereas he had a room, such as it was, all to himself A cot, small table, two chairs and a washstand with mir TOT over it completed his outfit of fur niture, and the contents of one small valise were the extent of his personal belongings. Oh, yes, I must not for get that he wore a suit of clothes, for that is an important part of the story. This suit consisted in part of pair of rather elaborate trousers, a brown and white check of which he was proud, and on which he relied to a considerable extent for the front" he meant to put on in these places where he hoped to find orders for work.
 Time was precious, so, as soon as he had settled in his room, he opened his valise and took therefrom the few black and white drawings he had brough with him as examples of the work he could do. One of them, his masterpiece in this line, would be, he felt sure, a potent appeal to anybody who had had an artistic eye and could usee the services of born illustrator. It lay on the table before him and he looked at it with that proud satisfac- tion known only to one who has cre- ated something of which he is not ashamed. As he looked at it, however, a thrilling idea flashed across his mind One little stroke of his pen would add greatness to what was already great With nervous haste he dug his pens and bottle of India ink from the depths of his valise. All a-tremble with the thrilling idea, he uncorked the bottle and-dropped it,spilling the contents over his masterpiece and the brown and white check trousers in which he had counted on creating an impression of success when he showed that drawing.
 This was a calamity He coud have cried, but that would do no good; so; instead he set about devising ways and means of rescuing the trousers from what seemed to be utter destruc- tion. A few moments later he was sitting in his room with a botlet of liquid which a neighboring druggist had assured him would remove ink spots from any fabric. And, indeed it did but it also removed the brown and white check from the trousers leg, leaving the garment looking worse than it did before.
 This was cataclysm. Still, the young artist was not utterly dismayed. From the depths of his valise he brought brushes and colors; and hav- ing mixed and blended until he had produced the color of the brown in the check, he proceeded to paint the front of the trousers Ter in imitation of it's erstwhile glo Y.
 Time was now even more precious than it had been before, for there was less of it. He ther fore set out at once with his remaining drawings, and was soon closeted with the art mqiager cf a magazine.
 Yes, the manager though he might be able to use some O. his work-not much, probably just nov, nor could iic pay much for it; out it wouG be an opening, and might leal to relations of doubtless great advantage ta the young artist. Everything was Soing on swimmingly. The artist stood be- side the manager as that functionary. sat at his magnificent desk. Against the front of the desk stood drawing which the manager had been showing to the artist as an example of the sort of thing for which he stood ready to pay any kind of fabulous price. In deed, he had paid an extravagant price for this work of New York most famous Illustrator and had just received the precious drawing, that morning.
 Then came destruction. As the young artist, encouraged by the thought that he had made a good inn pression on this mighty manager, backed away from the desk where he had been leaning over his prospective patrons shoulder, looking at some smaller sketches, a horrible truth broke upon him, all the more horrible because at the same time it broke upon the manager. The young artist upon the manager. The young artist had leaned with his freshly, checked trousers against the precious drawing of New York's most famous Illustrator and had smeared it's most vital surface with a brown and white check which not only destroyed the extravagantly expensive drawing, but so enraged the mighty manager that he literally chucked the young artist from the room, and all negotiations were off.
 That was dozen years or so ago. The young artist has since then made a bare living in New York. He is making a bare living now. No I don't mean that his living is so meager that he goes bare for he has another pair of trousers But he keeps that orig inal pair of brown and white checked ones as an evidence and illustration of what tough luck all along the line may accomplish in the destiny of man Willis Brooks in Brooklyn Eagle.
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 PRIZE DOGS MANUFACTURED. Io1 Two ITDsg