The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1907-08-16
A Splendid Studio
All but the View


twenty-third flight that she had
mounted that day, and her back ached
and her brain was dizzy and her heart
was sick.
Verify" she sighed, they charge
more for hole in the ceiling than for
a whole house"
For the girl was looking for a sky
light, and any person who has ever
searched New York for skylight
studio knows that the Pilgrims Prog.
ress or the hunt for the Golden Fleece
was mere summers pastime beside
such a task.
The janitress flung open the door of
the back room and the girls eyes
danced with joy. Here 1t was at last
just what she had been looking for.
A big, bright room, long enough to
swing a Mexican hammock across,
with large old-fashioned fireplace on
one side and beautiful skyIight in
its ceiling, through which the north.
ern light showed clear and white.
20, joy! o, happiness!" exclaimed
the girl, running to the huge old
fashioned windows and flinging them
up-and then she stopped short for
the sight that met her gaze fell like
"a blow upon the artistic temperament,
to say nothing Of the human eye.
Line after line of common, everyday
washing stretched in an Intending
vista before her Mortified gaze, and
above and behind the snow of drip
ping garments doomed the hideous
rear wall of an ugly tenement. The
girl stood still and reflected for a. mo.
ment
Il knew" she murmured, there
must be something the matter with it
at that price" Then her eye wan.
dered back to the skyIight and the
fireplace-and she fell.
20, well, they only wash on Mon
days." she decided, as she signed the
lease.
But to her CONSERVATION she discov-
cred week later that people who live
in tenements wash every dayT-judg
ing by the fresh productions daily.
Each morning the girl arose to face a
line of vermillion blankets, or a row
of baby frocks.
Her soul shrank at the thought of
inviting friend to view this hideous
background and gradually her inspira3
ton became dulled. The pictures in.
her brain resolved themselves into
OveraNs and cotton sheets. Then a
great idea came to her and she hied
herself to shop where they sell a
wonderful transparent paper which
you paste on your window giving It
the effect of stained glass. Gayly she
hurried home with ST. Cecilia win
dow in one hand and Rembrandt In
the other. The result was glorious.
She worked all that evening, and
the next morning when she opened
her eyes the sun was sitting through
in pink and yellow rays and instead
of the horrible tenement wash" st.
Cecilia and the Rembrandt figure
smiled upon her encouragingly. Then
she bought some pale yellow silk and
hung it in simple folds across the
upper panes of her windows. Over
this and falling to the floor at either
side she draped soft rich curtains;
and on top of the whole she had thick
green shades adjusted.
"Now," she declared defantly, mot
even Peeping Tom could see through
that" And then she invited her en-
tire coterie of friends to, her house
warming.
They came to see and remained to
envy. Never, they declared, had there
been such gem of studio, such an
ideal place in which to dream and
work and make merry. How had the
girl found it2 And how could she at
ford it?
The girl chuckled to herself and
shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.
1t was a great hour of triumph. A
wealthy connoisseur was present also
a rich woman, who might possibly or
der a portrait. The tea-kettle dubbed
and the pink and yellow lights
filled the place with mystic beauty.
The girl lifted the old silver teapot
to pour the wealthy connoisseur a sec
ond cup. Suddenly the harsh jangle
of a fire engine rang out on the air.
Everybody sat up and listened Nearer
and nearer came the changing bell, |
The studio babble stopped. 1t seemed
that the engine stopped almost under
the girls window. There was ma
ment of excited hubbub. The wealthy
connoisseur rushed over and flung
open window and craned his neck.
The girl sank weak and helpless on
divan.
what is it? Where is it?" cried
the excited guests, crowding toward
the open pane.
tits a snowstorm, not a fire." re-
marked the wealthy connoisseup,
drawing his head in. ITS been snow
ing pajamas. | think"