The Winslow mail., 1912-11-23
Love and Art


horhood of orange groves and mag
nolia trees His studio was place for
sght-seers. as well as a pleasant re.
sort for friends and neighbors.
Others succumbed to Lorimer's in
huence because they found him re-
sponsive and congenial, but imagined
that he attracted me because he was
my contrast. 1t was he, himself, who
discovered that our natures, beneath
the surface, were positive and not neg
ative, and with that discovery he swept
away all imagined barriers between lis,
placing me at once in the heart of the
company that haunted his bungalow.
He said to me one day as he looped
a Persian drapery behind his models
chair: "Tisdale, you have the depth
Of artist-instinct, but you haven't the
gift of expression. You don't even
talk. These others, for instance, -
waving his hand in the direction Of
he chatterers Just gone-"these others
talk about everything they feel, and,
dear boy, they have SO little to tell"
His tone to me was like velvet
CLEAN that made me love to look at
him. I knew that he knew> Eay inner
self, and that whatever that ss1f might
be- it was valued by him
! shall never forget the kindly sym
pathy that shone 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 to 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 q day.
under our soft skies and in our south
ern California hreezes
As ] entered the studio, 1.orimer's
clean-shaven cheeks, his locks of dark
hair thrown off his forehead. the
friendly eyes under his heavy brows,
made fit 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 q long time over his
shoulder without speaking, Il feel the
Joy of uttersnce Why. man. think
what a relief to weep in grief! That
Is what it is to paint, to sing. to be
poet"
Il can do none of these things" I
answered slowly.
No, but after all. perhaps within
you may be artist or poet Life has
an intensity, value that this hasn't
and Lorimer lightly struck his can
vas
A woman-it is always woman
that intrudes upon mems friendships.
She is a sort of earth, trespa ssing upon
kind of heaven. This time. it was.
of course, the daisy maid and it is
difficult to know whether she made
earth heaven, or brought heaven to
earth
Lorimer and I suddenly awoke to
the knowledge of mutual love for
my modest cousin. Why could not he
have chosen one of the beautiful WON
en- that haunted his studio? From the
crowds | met in cars and shops, why
could not I have taken another woman
and been satisfied?
My very silence was confession after
his avoval of love for Lucy, and then
he admonished gravely, "Tisdale, res
member we are her courtiers, and the
courtiers stand aside when the queen
passes, choosing whom she will
OH but it was hard to give another
man fair play: hard for us both. Lori
mer's face grew thin under the strain,
and a 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 Lorimers 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 it
seemed too dainty for the pocket of
my shag ggy coat: but when I 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 it to her lips: then she
thrust it into her gown, and as she
went away, she covered the place with
her hand, as though bird had flown
into her bosom.
Lorimer grirped my shoulder, but
the blood leaped TO my face for joy,
and then ran back in q tide of shame,
because I was 80 poor a creature. ]
felt my short and sturdy figure grow
more plebean in contrast TO my friend:
I saw my unruly shock of sandy hair:
| my features--my limbs: my hands and
| feet: all that The world calls man,
We we're silent, for I know not how
long, listening to the clock that Lori
,1,o,, ti,,, I'D btc hours NV Fir, l1Ir IL