The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1914-12-09

AN -. ing with a blue
~@ ribbon on its
edge; but when she opened her fiat
purse he was inside that, as grim as
ever.
To make it worse, a career was not
all she would leave behind when she
had spent all her money-all OF 1t,
that is, except the price Of a ticket
to her home in a certain New Eng
land village. Even to herself she
would not admit It, but there o
be another wrench when she saw the
last Of a certain wearer Of corduroy
breeches, who, for all the air OF him,
might never have worn anything near
er creased trousers in his life. He
was a Westerner, and the critics said
that he painted "freer and holder
than any student in the big school.
Tom Graham and she had a paint
ing-room acquaintance which extend
ed to lunch-time, when they usually
nodded shortly to each other from OPP
posite ends Of the same ~soda-fountain.
He lunched on egg connections, with
hot chocolate and crackers to boot;
p, she, on matted milk.
There had been a time when Ann
used to have a sustaining egg put In
her thin drink but that was in the
DAYS of her fathers remittances-
prodigal days, when she spent as
much as twenty cents in carfare, on
q Sunday, to fill her lungs with Gods
fresh air as 1t blew across the Hud-
son. When the remittances ceased,
instead Of eggs and a rides, she
bought baked beans and fresh paint
tubes. In fact, she kept reducing her
food outlay, nickel by nickel, until
sometimes she weakly wondered II
after all courage doesn't depend on
diet. She ought to have been told
that a tumbler Of matted milk isn't
enough to keep the blood in your
cheeks at noon, when your breakfast
has been two cold squares Of choco-
late, following q 15-cent dinner the
night before.
Then something strange happened.
Everybody noticed that Ann perked
up-especially the "~mixologist" before
the fountain, who had often slipped
a little more than a fair ten-cents'
worth into her tumbler. But this vas
different; for now an egg appeared
daily, and sometimes two, while the
check she paid was the same.
Ann hated taking charity, even while
she swallowed It. She hated 1t only
while she was before the counter, how
ever. She forgot everything she want
ed to forget in the resulting power. 1t
leaked from her angerends to the
canvas for hours, on the day when
she had two eggs. About this time
she sold a drawing to a magazine,
and IL came another prize for her
work in oils.
One fall day, however, the keen
wind that raked Broadway helped Ann
through the door bodily. The mixol-
ogist looked her coat up and down,
then caught it between his fingers to
feel how thin 1t was.
Pretty sharp breeze, miss" he said.
"You need a fur coat-one O them
new dog-skins, now"
He stopped in the face Of Tom Ora
ham, who had come In for his lunch.
Ann, sensitive about her shabbiness,
choked over her egg and got out
quickly.
Later-an hour after Tom Graham
had left the counter-she came back
with 20 nickels in her humpy, frayed
black purse. It was nearly all the
money she had. She talked to the
mixologist with a red face.
Here is the money for the eggs.
OF course I expected to pay it as soon
as I could. Very, very much obliged.
I know there were just 20, for I kept
track"
The mixer turned away.
II didn't mean any offense about
that coat" he said over his shoulder.
"Of course not. It Is getting cold"
WELL, and I wasn't responsible for
those eggs, either. 1t was the man
with the velveteen pants. He paid
me for EN-"
AIMS finances were In that critical
state when the loss Of a dollar makes
the whole difference; SO she closed
honorable mentions" blue ribbons,
and wrecked hopes into q home
bound trunk that evening, and thought
out a note to Tom Graham meanwhile.
She lacked the nerve to go and thank
him.
When she opened the door to a
mans humping, late in the evening,
she even lacked the nerve-or the
food-to stand up. Tom Graham was
breathless after a climb Of three
flights, but he caught her to save a
fall, and then, to save an explanation.
he told her Ne loved her.
It was enough for Ann when he said
passionately that he couldn't see her
grow pinched for food any longer II
he had tried, for women Of your sort
don't go hungry where I came from"
Then he drew hssty sketches Of the
mountains on his Colorado ranch all
over her white paper.
They have built q studio there nov.
The poor mans 10Y ride is by troll
ley.