Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1912-08-16
Love and Art


aoft !ot friends and nciRhb0re
others sureunbcd 10 LgrlH er's in
anence be tuGc they found him re.
srouslye IN conrcnill. but ! Imagined
that he attracted me because he was
my contrast. II WHs he, himatif. who
disr oycrcd that aUr natures. beneath
the surface. were go Five and unt neg.
ati,e, aud With that discovery he swept
away all imagined barriers between ua
placing me at once In the heart of tie
company that haunted his bungalow.
lie said to me one day ae he loarod
Persian drnpcry behind his models
chair: "Tisialc, yen have the depih
of artst.instluct, but YOU haven't The
gift OF expression. You don't even
talk. These others. for instance, -
waving his hand In the direction Of
the ehatterors Just gone--"thcse others
talk about everything they feel, and.
dear boy, they have 40 little to telll"
Ills tone 10 me was like velvet
touch. anG his eyes held stocl-bue
CLEAN that made me love to look at
him. | knew that he knew my inner
self, and that whatever that self might
be, II was valued by him.
shall never forget tho kindly sym.
pathy that shono from his eyes when
he realized one special day that
needed him to understand me. had
gone TO him, troubled about my moth
er's orphaned cousin Lucy, who had
come to us to live, having no other
place to go. | wanted 10 befriend her.
to make her happy, and | could not
even tell her that she was welcome.
She was little daisy maid, blossom
Ing into womanhood almost in day.
under our soft skies and in our south
ern California breezes
AS entered the studio, Lorimer's
clean-shaven checks, his locks of dark
hair thrown off his forehead, the
friendly eyes under his heavy brows,
made At crown to his tall form
standing before the easel. | can see
the very dab of ochre on his thumb.
He was busy at one of his wonderful
wood interiors, touching in the sun
light by hints OF yellow on the lichen-
covered trunks.
Yes, Tisdale." Lorimer said, after
| had looked for long time over his
shoulder without speaking, II feel the
Joy OF utterance. Why. man, think
what a relief to weep in grief That
Is what II is to paint, to sing, to be
poet"
Il can do none of these things" /
answered slowly.
NO. but after all, perhaps within
you may be artist or poet. Life has
an Intensity, a value, that this hasn't"
and Lorimer lightly struck his can
vas.
A woman IL Is always q woman
that intrudes npon mems friendships.
She Is a sf1t or earth, trespassing upon
kind of heaven. This time, 1t was
OF course, the daisy maid, and it is
difflcult to know whether she made
earth heaven, or brought heaven to
earth.
Lorimer and l suddenly awoke to
the knowledge of mutual love for
my modest cousin. Why could not he
have chosen one of the beautiful wom-
en- that haunted his studio? From the
crowds / met In cars and shops. why
could not have taken another woman
and been satisfied?
My very silence was confession after
his avowal of love for Lucy, and then
he admonished gravely, "Tisdale, re-
member we are her courtiers, and the
courtiers stand aside when the queen
passes. choosing whom she WILL
Oh! but 1t was hard to give another
man fair play; hard for us both. Lori
mer's face grew thin under the strain,
and river Of fire seemed to flow in
and out Of my heart
At last, Lucy consented to sit for
her portrait. One day, hidden In sport
behind some studio trumpery, we
watched her enter. Lorimer's hand
was on my shoulder. AS fortune had
decreed. my handkerchief lay on the
floor. Her own hand had so en-
broidered the square of linen that 1t
seemed too dainty for the pocket of
my shaggy coat; but when / carried
the sheer and pretty thing, she seemed
close. Now, Lucy looked hastily to
right and left, then, believing herself
alone, she caught up the handkerchief
and pressed 1t to her lips; then she
thrust 1t into her gown, and as she
went away, she covered the place with
her hand, as though bird had flown
into her bosom.
Lorimer gripped my shoulder, but
the blood leaped to my face for Joy,
and then ran back in tide of shame,
because I was so poor creature. L
felt my short and sturdy figure grow
more plebean in contrast to my friend;
saw my unruly shock Of sandy hair;
my features-my limbs; my hands and
feet; all that the world calls man.
We were silent, for know not how
long, listening to the clock that Lori
mer timed his hours by. Finally, 1t
was he that spoke;