Arizona republican., 1906-12-30

spend my life tending the Flame before the Shrine of Art Could you help me in that?"
 No" Charley answered decidedly.
 Then we must part" I moaned.
 "All right he said, and paused. "It can't last. When you return % con- sciousness I'll be there-the first object that meets your opening eyes. And I'll have a diamond ring sparkling before them so big and bright that it'll make the Flame before the Shrine of Art look like thirty cents"
 Art was a new thing in BoOnville, welcomed with a fine Western enthu- siasm, and l was its prophecies. In school had always won all the draw ing prizes. Afterward, one summer, I had taken in oils" for three months from an art teacher who was visiting her relations in the place. The dear. little, shiny tubes of paint had always had the greatest fascination and no terror for me. I plunged in unhesita- tingly, and was at once covered with Prussian blue and glory. I do not know which was the more pervasive. I rubbed the Prussian blue off with great difficulty, but the glory stuck. My portrait of Rover" the collie, was shown to everyone who came to the house My picture of "Boonville Creek Bridge at Sunset was hung in the window of the dry goods store and praised in the local papers.
 Of course the fiattery went to my head. The notice told upon me. 1 be- gan to act the part-and dress it. By instinct. assisted by pictures and the descriptions of several heroines in ar tistic nOvels-I became as limp and trailing and diaphanous and queer as if had lived in studios all my life. l began to be superior. l found tha Boonville existence was "crude and un- finished" l learned-and stated-that it lacked atmosphere and color"
 All this. as may be imagined. did not tend to make me popular. But l argued that the artistic nature was diff ferent, and could not naturally exist on the lowIy level of everyday life. Like all exalted spirits, I was destined to be lonely. After a picnic had been arrang cd without me. l decided that l would exist solely for my art.
 I went to New York had made up my mind to go from the first. I felt l should find there all longed to have. At school Molly Simpkins had been my dearest friend. Her soul longed for music as mine longed for art. She had visions of applauding audiences in grand opera, while Salon medals dan gled before my eyes. She had already chosen her name. As she was born in Denver, she was going to call herself Colorado. I wrote to her at once, and we joined forces in the prittiest little apartment. with her Aunt Matilda for chaperon. There was no trouble about money. for papa was Boonville's lead ing citizen. and always gave me every thing I wanted.
 We settled and set to work. l never shall forget the first day when l found myself in big, dusty room with casts looking like ghosts of departed chief d'oeuvres glimmering in all the dark corners. There were heads and arms and feet everywhere. one might have thought there had been horrible plas- ter of paris accident, and the unfOrtu- nate victims had been thrown all over the place. Of course, I had to begin with one of the scattered members. The glories of the Milo or of the DicobUlus were not for me. l was obliged to put in my time with a bOny hand clasping what might have been the rod of em- pire or a section of clothesline. My days divided between that and foot with the heel raised for some unknown reason on a block that would put the ' Ef f~.l, s..ng shame. This. however. did not last. I made unequaled progress. l was, l believe. the admiration and wonder of the place. I broke the record in get i ting into the Portrait Class, and there ! I came on Julian Melrose.
 The result for my young affections was in no way unprecedented. There was not one girl in the class who was not interested in him. Nine-tenths oi us were in love with him. Any one who was not would have been thought ! to show a culpable disregard of pop ular opinion-would have been regard | ed as something ot an outsider not evincing a proper fellow spirit. I had never seen anything like him before and the effect was instantaneous. He ' was very ldl Aio pAi' AAiphSiN pA s1as ing that he was fat. His pointed beard and short hair were perfectly black none even whispered that he was slightly bald. When his tall figure 1 loungcd into the room with his hands ] in the pockets of his very baggy trous- ! CTS I stood entranced. His sombre- ness of expression impressed me al once. His melancholy. far-Off gaze at 1 tracted me. felt immediately that he
 was the living. walking embodiment oi ! the Spirit of Art which l had sought ] I knew the reverence in which he wa
 held for his work. I had seen some oi
 it. and pretcnded so hard that l under
 stood it that l finished by satisfying myself that I truly did.
 As he strode forward and stood | drowning down on the girls easel I all
 most held my breath waiting to seize
 the precious words. Casting up his
 eyes and his hands to heaven he drew a long breath. Then he shudderet
 slightly.
 "Horr.ble." he murmured, "horri-
 ble."
 I saw the girl shrink. l could tel from her face that she was ready tC
 cry
 Did you ever try shoe polishing ,
 he asker. glancing down at her bril- liant. neat little tan footwear.