Waterbury evening Democrat., 1907-04-30
WHAT HE
 VALUED MOST
py RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
Copyright. by Joseph 5. Bowles.)

One afternoon she had heard movers in the hall, and knew that the fourth-floOr studio had been taken. The next morning unfamiliar sounds fell from above--a mans voice, deep and musical, leaping up and down the scale, cheerful, companionable tor rent of melody that brought a respon- sive smile to her face.
 Next day she had learned his name. Seeking letters from the pile in the lower hall, she had found colorman's ] catalogue addressed to John Tim son, Esq" She had smiled at the name; Timson was so unusual and quaint and-funny! John she liked; her fathers name had been John. All the morning, as she worked at her copper bowls and candlesticks, she stroye to picture personality be- fitting the name of John Timson.
 A week later she saw him.
 After that they bowed, and then spoke. Meetings became frequent. Aside from the little weazened dealer in old worries and curl ] osities on the first floor, they were the only occupants of the house who made it their hope. That served as bond of sympathy, and they soon discovered others. They were both orphans, and both without near rela- tives; they were both struggling for ]! recognition-he as painter of land scapes in oils, she as a worker in metals And then there were minor sympathies born of similar tastes and views which came to light in the first year of their friendship.
 It became his custom to drop into her room for moment on his way up and down stairs, and then in the evenings for long, enjoyable talks, while he sat in her one easy-chair and smoked and she worked away at an order or did her mending. Once a week he descended tremendously. immediately clean, but diffusing a strong odor of paint, and took lunch with her, gravely marveling at the display and pretended alarm at her recklessness.
 Once he had returned her hospital. ity-he had sold Q small canvas-and they had dined sumptuously at one end of the paint-stained table on lob ster outlets and French peas and as- paragus, sent in chilled, but appetiz- ing, from the cafe across the square. And he had made marvellous coffee in an old copper kettle, and had pro duced bottle of olives, which, he sol. emnly declared, had been two years awaiting the occasion.
 Usually he called for her at the institute in Brooklyn-she still at- tended an evening class three times a week.-and brought her home.
 Once they had walked back across the bridge on a brisk winter night, the white stars above them. the pur. pie lamps advancing and meeting them along their path, and the lemon and red and green lanterns twink. ling up from boats and pier-heads. That night she had heard his story. He had told her of boyhood spent in a little town in western Missouri, of his first dim dissatisfaction with his lot and his growing hatred for toll in his fathers squalid general store;" how at his fathers death-his mother he had never known-he had gone to St. Louis. where he had clerked by day and studied art by night. until. with $2.000 saved, he had come to New York and entered the league. He had spent three years there, and then had buried himself in the Jersey woods, living like her init, in a hut of his own building. and painting from dawn to dusk, fair days and foul
 And now" he had ended. they're beginning to know me. I've sold few canvases, mostly through Ruy- ter. Ruyter believes in me- The thing I'm working on now is for the academy. It's going to take year; but it's good. it's .he best have in me-and its going to be hung"
 "Oh, do so hope SOL" she had said. earnestly.
 I've never doubted 1t" he had am swered. simply. Its a big stake, but-I'm going to win!"
 And so that first year had passed. and the second of their friendship was three months old.
 One afternoon-the morrow was the last day for receiving canvases at the academy-he entered her room. and sank silently into his accustomed chair She looked up questioningly from the silver buckle on which she was working.
 Finished" he said. gloomily.
 Does 1t go to-day?"
 Tomorrow: it isn't quite dry yet I suppose I ought to be glad, but" he smiled forlornly-'T only feel rath- CT lonesome" He filled and lighted his pipe. Do you care to see it agains"
 "Oh. yes" she answered. eagerly.
 Upstairs he drew aside the yellow. fish cloth. and laid bare the canvas on which he had toiled for almost a year It was large. six feet by four. and undoubtedly an ambitious effort for what might be called first picture. yet the result was so splendid that the artists faith in its success seemed justified.
 He had called 1t "Ausust"-a wide. far-reaching expanse of salt-marsh