The Red Cloud chief., 1913-04-10
GRANDMA'SPARROT
It Could Repeat the Lords Pray.
er From Beginning to End,
and Then Some.
0y BRYANT c. ROGERS.


years old. He was referred to a.
young Derwent. In order not to mix
him up with any old Derwent who
might have reached the age OF hun.
dred
Young Derwent was called an artist.
This was to distinguish him from the
many house painters one saw at work
every fine day.
He was an orphan. adopted and
reared BY his grandmother In Connec-
ticut. She had much to answer for.
Young Derwent developed n talent
for sketching with charcoal and chalk.
At nine years old he could sketch n
rooster SO naturally that hens would
gather around the picture and cluck.
\ year later he drew such a natural
face of Elder Comstock on a barn
door that his proud grandma had to
pay fine of $40 to keep him out Of
Jail
Young Derwent managed somehow
to pull through until he was of age.
Then. as II was apparent to all but
other artists and a few scene painters
that he he was a genius with the
brush. he was sent to the city to set
up a studio and blossom out. In the
space Of four years he painted three
portraits One was that Of an alder.
man. who went to the state prison for
graft within week after his picture
was finished; the second was that of
saloon keeper. whose wife eloped
and took the picture with her. and
the third was that Of bulldog. who
straight way went mad and bit his
master and no one blamed him for It.
When young Derwent was not busy
with his brush he played poker. golf.
polo and attended ball games. He
wasn't at all bad. He did not care
particularly about going to heaven
when he died, but 1t is simply impos-
sible for one reared under the laws
of Connecticut to be bad, even with
a small "b."
Most artists fall In love at a tender
age and keep 1t up till they strike
80 Young Derwent had never loved.
He might sometime, but he wasn't
betting on II. He was sociable, but
did not seek to make himself popular.
he was satisfied to go right along be.
ing Mr.. Derwent and having his grand.
mother foot the bills.
In the next apartment to Mr.. Der.
vents studio dwelt Miss Honore Has.
well. She didn't call her place an
atelier or studio. but her office. Her
line was not mercantile or law, but
literary. She wrote stories for the
magazines. She read some of them to
her intimate friends. but no one ever
read one OF them In cold type. It al.
ways happened that the magazines
were overstocked with stories In her
line whenever she sent one In. II
they rejected q sporty story and she
sat down and invented and sent In q
religious one, 1t was the same excuse
--overstocked.
Miss Haswell may have been an or.
phan or she may not. She may have
had plenty Of money. or she may have
had to pinch. Be that as 1t may, she
was no kicker. She piled her reject.
ed manuscripts I'm corner OF her of.
flee as they came back.
Mr.. Derwent and Miss Haswell were
not acquainted. They used the same
stairway and often bumped against
each other In the semi.darkness, but
she had never simled at him, and he
had never winked at her. They may
have wondered about each other
sometimes. but It stopped right there.
Perhaps this was wise thing on the
part of both. but 1t is also to be re-
membered that there Is such thing
90 carrying wisdom too far.
One morning young Derwent awoke
with troubled conscience. A still
small voice charged him with neglect.
ing his grandmother. He hadn't been
up to Connecticut to see her for three
months. and 1t had been several weeks
since he had written her that she
might send an extra check. It wasn't
using the dear old girl according to
Hoyle. She was drying apples and
making soft soap. and he was loafing
around. She was putting q second
mortgage on her stony old farm and
scraping the bottom Of the -four bar.
rel. and he was betting on the ponies
and ordering fried eggs ut the restau.
rant. He would take run up among
the wooden nutmegs and see her and
assure her OF his undying love and
gratitude. Also. that he expected q
commission to paint q famous DOR.
trait.
The grateful adopted went further.
He would take up some little present
to prove his thoughtfulness and con.
sideration--not an expensive present,
but q momento to be laid away In the
archives after being rolled In camphor.
After eating his breakfast he went
strolling to see what he could find.
He had almost decided on q cellulotd
BACKBONE. price twenty cents, when
he met sailor carrying a parrot on
his arm.
Come to anchor. Jack Brace!"
commanded the artist.
AYE. aye. sir! It's a parrot just
f.l~