The evening world., 1914-01-03

inG into the little bedroom. The loop OF
the inner portieres gave II the shape OF
. comm. Valentine groaned. Slowly .
half thought grew into a recollection
where had he read that story. only re-
Gently. too7 All, yes. 1t had been In All
the papers. That wonderful dramatic
story Of tho painter found dead In his
Molrtmartre Studio. surrounded by mas
terpieces, his work. his great. unhera1d-
ed triumphs. The pictures he had never
been Wiling TO s,ubmtt to the pulling
criticism Of a jury OF his interiors. All
Paris had gone Wild over these treas
ures. All, how right he had been. that
man. how very right. Why. indeed, cast
pearls before swine?
Perhaps II he. too. were dead. tho
name and fame Of Valentine Gregg
would hli the world-too late. They
would realize they had killed the song
bird, sheltered the lamp OF knowledge
quenched the fame OF inspiration. Then
good old Vincent would say:
II always believed In htm. poor boy.
When ne was hard up I staked him. l
loaned him my studio. gave him every
encouragement"
Then, At last. that judgment would
be vtndicated. Well. and why not?
What was the use Of going on7 He had
no more money: and no would not stick
good old Vincent for another dollar. Go
back to The hardware trade? Ills gorge
rose-not by . 3ugful. And then
what?
Sslf-p,ty that was keen pleasure In ito
Very ache thrilled him through and the
gaunt. ob!ong Of the doorway held him
fascinated. Slowly 'he rose. with the
stiR but sure movements OF . hypnotic
subject. About the walls he huns lrii
rejected pictures. The most smb'tioui
canvas he placed on the easel. dragging
1t where the FIRST light OF dawn would
nnd II and delicately illuminate III
beauties. The darkness offered no OBJ
stacles. He knew every foot OF nooI
and wall space by heart and no did moi
want 10 look upon his work again. Tit
lust OF creation might zoe born OF thu
look. the craving for light and coloI
and atmosphere.
"Rforituri Salutan,us!"
Things arranged TO his satisfaction
he put his wide-brinmed hat on his
mane Of auburn hair. swung into his
cherished cape-coat With the velvet col
lar that siways made him whistle MI
sette's song from "Boheme," and sought
the street-the dear old street. lie
walked 10 tho square and back again
to the little V.sha ped playground at the
western end. back and forth. back and
FORTH. glancing at tho old fashioned
6riek houses--all old landmarks. harbor-
Ing old friends.
Here the Lanxleys. the illustrators
had their dwelling, with q workshop
cuddled In the back yard. Over there
Max Linthauer. the Socialist cartoonist,
held forth with vitriolic pen. Across
the way Colt. the portrait painter. and
Anna Boyd. the lecturer: four reporters
IN ono nat at No. %; Ten Eyck. the vio-
linist. in the little apartment house. and
tho Woosters. who specialized In maya
sine covers: Abe Morris. tho advertisins
artist. Just OF sixth avenue: "IOony'
Porcello. the futurist. over by the rec
tory; Jeanette Tulay. the sculptor. neal
Gay street. Silently. a. he looked W
at the rows OF windows. Valentine salt
goodby to them all. 'tMorituri salu
tamus." He DRAGGED the forgotten Latir
from his schoolboy past and repeated
the sonorous syllables. I'VE who arr
Lbout 10 die salute YOU"
He paused ere he mounted the step!
into his own house Tears blinded hi
sish. a. he swept the beloved street will
q last farewell glance Then with burst
ing heart he ned up the stairs. entered
the studio. and with but q glance at tn