Ceredo advance. [volume] (Ceredo, W. Va.) 1885-1939, 1907-02-13


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-
siye smile TO her face.
Next day she had learned his name.
Seeking letters from the pile in the
lower hall, she had found a colorman's
catalogue addressed to John Tim
son, Esq" She had smiled at the
name; Timson was so unusual and
quaint and-funnyl John she liked:
her fathers name had been John. All
the morning. as she worked at her
copper bowls and candlesucks. she
strove to picture personality be-
atting 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 weakened
dealer in old worries and curl
osities on the first floor. they were
the only occupants Of the house
who made It their home. That served
rs bond of sympathy. and they soon
orphans, and both without near rela-
lives; they were both struggling for
recognition-he as a painter OF land
scapeS in oils, she as a worker in
metals. And then there were minor
pympathies born OF similar tastes and
views which came to light In the first
year of their friendship.
1t became his custom to drop into
her room for a moment on his way
mp 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
tecklessness.
Once he had returned her hospital
ity-ha had sold a small canvas-and
they had dined sumptuously at one
end Of the paint-stained table on lob
alter outlets and French peas and as
paragus, sent in chilled, but appetiz-
hg, from the cafe across the square.
And he had made marvellous coffee
n an old copper kettle, and had pro-
1uced bottle OF olives. which he sol
Imnly declared. had been two years
waiting the occasion.
Usually he called for her at the
nsutute in Brooklyn-she still at
ended an evening class three times a
Ieek-and brought her home.
Once they had walked back across
me bridge on a brisk winter night.
he white stars above them, the pur-
Nle lamps advancing and meeting
hem along their path. and the lemon
nd red and green lanterns twink
ing up from boats and pier-heads.
hat night she had heard his story.
de had told her of a boyhood spent
Il little town in western Missouri,
his first dim dissatisfaction with
lis lot and his growing hatred for
oil in his fathers squalid general
tore;" how at his fathers death-his
Iother he had never known-he had
zone to St Louis, where he had
lerked by day and studied art by
Night, until, with $4,000 saved he had
,ome to New York and entered the
nague. He had spent three years
here, and then had buried himself
n the Jersey woods, living like a her
Nit, in hut of his own building. and
'ainting from dawn to dusk. fair days
end foul.
And now" he had ended, they're
eginning to know me. I've sold
'ew canyases. mostly through Ruy-
er. Ruyter believes in me. The
hing I'm working on now is for the
+cademy. It's going TO take a year;
'ut it's good, it's the best | have in
ne-and it's going to be hung"
"Oh. do so hope sol" she had said,
earnestly.
I've never doubted IT," he had an
wered. simply. It's a big stake.
ut-I'm going to win"
And so that first year had passed.
nd the second OF their friendship
as three months old
one aiternoon-the morrow was the
st day for receiving canvases at the
cademy-he entered her room. and
hnk silently into his accustomed
hair She looked UP questioningly
rom the silver buckle on which she
Jas working.
Finished" he said. gloomily.
"Does II go to-day?"
Tomorrow; 10 isn't quite dry vet
suppose ! ought TO be glad hut"
. smiled fOrlornly-"I only feel ratb.
r lonesome" lie filled and lighted
ais pipe. do you care to see n
sgain?'
"Oh. yes" she answered, eagerly
Upstairs he drew aside the vellovv.
IN cloth, and laid bare the canvas on
Fhich he had toiied for almost a wear
I was large, six feet by four and
undoubtedly an ambitious effort for
that might be called a first picture
ct the result was so splendid that
ne artists faith in its success seemed
ustifed.
lie had called It "August"-a wide.
n o. p aHaa