Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1913-07-03

A touch on his shoulder startled
him. Looking up, he met the eyes Oh
the girl model-tear-filled, sympathet.
ic, eyes. Her plain face was hlleo
with longing to comfort him,
Il know what's troubling you, she
confessed. Il found her note, when
you We're out"
He barely heard.
81 came from the country, too she
went on. And, oh, can't believe she
gone for good! Women aren't made
that way"
He heard now. He looked up, eager
with hope. His voice came In whls-
per:
You think she'll come back? he
wanted to hear her say 1t again-to
say 1t and say it and say it.
She did. She'll get tired OF the
road-you wait and see! She only
thinks she'll be happy there. But now
she's had taste of home-and she I'll
come back. Women were made for
home"
His hand reached UP and caught
hers and chung to 1t.
Tell me again" he said.
Over and over, as one teaches les
son to Q child, she assured him that
Gwendolin would some day return.
But of course, you'll have to walt,
she finished. 1T will be little while
before she realizes what she has lost.
You'll have to be patient
He heard no more. His thoughts
were busy with plans that would make
the waiting easier. He could work
harder and earn more money ana
more fame-for her. He could make
thousand little changes about the
house-for her. He could wide his
circle of friends, even seek friends III
the theatrical world-for her. On
there was plenty to keep him busy. II
he could but believe in her return.
And he would make himself believe
In it, He would work on. as though
nothing had happened--as though she
were only away on a little trip for
her health.
Determinedly, he picked up his
palette,
And then came the old trouble-the
shaking hand. the haunting resem'
blance. For the third time, Gwendo-
lin. not posing model. knelt before
the failure.
To paint Gwendolin the failure, and
ut no that she
would return to him, was an impossi.
bilty. Only one side of page can
be seen at once.
In fash of inspiration, the solu-
ton came.
Paint her as the failure" came the
strange voice within him, but paint
her standing, with her head up, and
her arms straight, and her face trl'
umphant! Paint her rs the failure
that is success
He wrenched the canvas from the
easel, grabbed another. From mem
DRY he worked, memory that served
him. Every curve, every tone, every
shadow, Of her he saw-saw it as "
was in the living flesh.
Gradually Gwendolin's figure grew
on the canvas-a tense. joyous, trl-
umphant, Gwendoln. Sunday found
him painting her, darkness found him
painting her-painting her to his
hearts comfort.
And the days and the weeks that
followed, found him painting her. AL
ways, some new line or tint or tone
was to be added, The night Of the ex-
hibtion drew near
And suddenly, on the very night
when the announcement of the winner
of the grand prize was to be made,
Harry lost heart. He saw that she
was never coming back-to him-that
he had been fooling himself. He sank
into his big studio chair and dropped
his head on his arms. The announce
ment mean nothing to him. lie would
not even go to hear 1t.
Yet. toward the end OF the evening
he did wander around to the exhibit
ton Sheer loneliness took him into
the crowded place. He sauntered in
differently toward the space OF wall
reserved for the winning picture.
And it was with the same indiffer.
ence that he viewed his own work
decorated with the grand prize laurel
His eyes gaZed up at the face OF his
triumphant failure, with a deep bit.
terness in their depths; he had paint
ed an ideal Gwendolin.
He turned to 60. The loneliness
had followed him. 1t was here, too.
1t was everywhere. Blindly he
pushed his way through the crowd.
lie stumbled, almost fell and then
looked up
In the looking his face went white;
clutching his arm, stood Gwendolin.
Neither spoke.
She had changed-changed 30 that
it frightened him. Her cheeks were
hollow. Her mouth had learned the
trick OF dropping, her eyes had
learned the trick Of pleading. A brok-
en- Gwendolin stood before him.
She was the first to speak: Harry!
The picture! Oh, Harry. can one turn
the same leaf twice? Can the failure
-succeed?'
His arms closed round her. He said
no word-merely drew her out into
the night.
Copyright, 1918. by the Mcclure News
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