The Hays free press. [volume] (Hays, Kan.) 1908-1924, 1915-02-13

must some day be answered Friend
ship had been a good and seemingly
a sufficient definition Now he was not
so sure that it could remain So
Then his thoughts went back 20 a
cabin in the hills and girl in calico
He heard a voice like the voice OF q
song bird saying through tears:
i couldn't live without ye. Samson
Jest couldn't do HIT"
For a moment he was sick OF his life
/ It 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 paIlor of the
moonlight. as though you were see
ing ghosts
Il am" said Samson. Lets go"
Adrienne had not yet seen her por-
trait. Samson had needed few hours
Of finishing when he left New York.
| though it was work which could be
done away from the model So it was
natural that when the party reached
Paris Adrienne should soon insist on
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
a way, a form of mind-reading. for
Samson's brush was the tongue OF his
soul.
The girls eyes grew thoughtful as
she saw that he still drew the leering.
saturnine 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 fawless.
The girls personality radiated from
the canvas-and yet A disappointed
little look crossed and clouded her
eyes. She was conscious Of an in
defnable catch of pain at her heart
Samson stepped forward, and his
waiting eyes, too, were disappointed
you don't like it, Drennie?" he
anxiously questioned But she smiled
in answer, and declared:
L love it"
He went out a few minutes later to
telephone for her to Mrs LescOtt, and
gave Adrienne carte blanche to browse
among his portfolios and stacked can
vases until his return In a 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 elementally
simple, but each brush stroke had
been thrown against the surface with
the concentrated fire and energy Of q
blow, except the strokes that had
painted the face, and 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 wero
listening to faraway music In the
eyes was indomitable courage. That
canvas was at once a declaration OF
love, and a miserere. Adrienne set
it up beside her own portrait, and, as
she studied the two with her chin rest
ing on her gIoved 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 on straight
from the heart-and this other was
Sally! She replaced the sketch where
she had found il, and Samson return
ing found her busy with little sketches
Of the Seine.
"Drennie," pleaded WiIfred Horton,
as the two leaned on the rail Of the
Mauretania, returning from Europe,
ARE you going to hold me on 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
its somber tones found reflection in
, her eyes. She shook her head
81 wish 1 knew" she said, YEARLY.
Then she added yehemently: I'm not
worth it, WiIfred. Let me go. 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"
'Is ft'-he put the question with
foreboding- after all, was
, 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
CTO BE CONTINUEDO