The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1915-08-05

DUBt some day De answered. tTlenu-
SHIP had been q gee& and seemingly
O sufi cient definition. Now be was NOT
80 sure that 1t could remain so.
Then his thoughts went back to a
cabin in the hills and a girl in calico.
He heard a voice Ike the voice of a
song bird saying through tears:
Il couldn't live without ye, Samson.
jest couldn't do hit!"
For moment he was sick of his life.
1t seemed that there stood before him,
In that place of historic wraiths and
memories. a girl, her eyes sad, but
loyal, and without reproof.
You look" said Adrienne, studying
his countenance in the pallor of the
moonlight, "as though you were see-
ing ghosts"
| 'I am" said Samson. Let's 60.
Adrienne had not yet seen her por-
trait Samson had needed few hours
OF finishing when he left New York.
though 1t was work which could be
done away from the model. So 1t was
natural that when the party reached
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crossing the Pont d'Alexandre III to
his studio near the "Boule Mich" for an
inspection of her commissioned canvas.
For a while she wandered about the
businesslike place, Uttered with the
gear Of the painters craft. 1t was, in
Samson's brush was the tongue of his
soul.
The girls eyes grew thoughtful as
she saw that he still drew the leering,
saturnihe face OF Jim Asberry. He
had not outgrown hate, then? But
she said nothing until he brought out
and set on an easel her own portrait.
For a moment she gasped with sheer
delight for the colorful mastery of the
technique, and she would have been
hard to please had she not been de-
lighted with the conception of her.
self mirrored in the canvas. 1t was
face through which the soul showed,
and the soul was strong and flawless.
The girls personality radiated from
the canvas-and yet A disappointed
little look crossed and clOuded her
eyes. She was conscious Of an in
definable catch of pain at her heart.
Samson stepped forward, and his
waiting eyes. too, we're disappointed
"You don't like it, Drennie?" he
anxiously questioned. But she smiled
in answer, and declared;
Il love it."
| l. 70 mi IqfnT
telephone for her to Mrs. Lescott. and
gave Adrienne carte blanche to browse
among his portfolios and stacked can
vases until his return. In few min
utes she discovered one OF those eff
forts which she called his ''rebellious
pictures"
These were such things as he paint
ed, using no model except memory
perhaps, not for the making Of finished
pictures, but merely to give outlet to
his feelings; an outlet which some
men might have found in talk.
This particular canvas was roughly
blocked in, and it was elementaIly
simple, but each brush stroke had
been thrown against the surface with
the concentrated fire and energy of a
blow, except the strokes that had
painted the face, ant there the brush
had seemed to kiss the canvas. The
picture showed a barefooted girl
standing, in barbaric simplicity OF
dress, in the glare of the arena. while
a gaunt lion crouched cycling her. Her
head was lifted as though she were
listening to PARKWAY music. In the
eyes was indomitable courage. That
canvas was at once declaration OF
love, and a miserere. Adrienne sci
it up beside her own portrait, and, as
she studied the two with her chin rest
ing on her gloved hand. her eyes
cleared of questioning. Now she knew
what she missed in her own more
beautiful likeness. 1t had been paint
ed with all the admiration of the mind
The other had been dashed off straight
from the heart-and this other was
Sally! She replaced the sketch where
she had found it, and Samson return.
ing found her busy with little sketches
of the Seine.
"Drennie," pleaded Wilfred Horton,
as the two leaned on the rail of the
Mauretania, returning from Europe,
ARE you going to hold me of in
definitely? I've served my seven
years for Rachel, and thrown in some
extra time Am no nearer the goal?"
The girl looked at the oily heave OF
the leaden and cherries Atlantic. and
it's somber tones found reflection in
her eyes She shook her head.
II wish / knew" she said, YEARLY,
Then she added vehemently: I'm not
worth it, Wilfred. Let me CO.. Chuck
me out Of your life as little pig who
can't read her own heart; who is too
utterly selfish to decide upon her own
life"
lis it"-he put the question with
| foreboding-"that, after all. was a
prophet? Have you - and South -
wiped your feet on the doormat
marked 'Platonic friendship Have
you done that, Drennie?"
She looked up into his eyes Her
own were wide and honest and very
full Of pain.
Gro BE CONTINUED)
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