The Press., 1915-09-29

seemed to have been reached the girl paused.
 "There'-she pointed at the top of the tenement-''is my home." "Homer' the man breathed con temptuously; then, with wondering pity he repeated the word, "Homer' "Goodby," said the girl and extended her hand.
 "Goodby until tomorrow" reminded the man, his smile unchanged. Smiling, too, she went up the narrow stair, but when tomorrow came she was absent from her place at the restaurant table. An atmosphere of unaccountable cheerlessness pervaded the sunny niche near the window. Bronson fretted impatiently at the girls delay. He had intended to inquire today more particularly into her manner of liv ing. His night had been troubled and wakeful at the thought of her bright presence. braving the struggle for ex istence. What sacrifice and deprivation might she not be undergoing for 6 dream of art which might be no more than a dream! This, at least, his owr | knowledge could decide for her If she would come. But the opposite chaiI remained vacant.
 "Mademoiselle comes not today" the garrulous waiter remarked. Made moiselle, the green manikin, is ab | sent"
 Bronson sat up with a start. "Mademoiselle who?" he asked rath
 CT sharply.
 "She who dimes with you," ths
 waiter imperturbably replied, made moiselle who is what you call 'manikin or model for the great modiste. Surely monsieur has heard of the green man ikin from Franquetta's." Yes, Bronson had heard, remembered having seen the model pictured il Franquetta's window. a graceful figure clad always in garments soft tinted as the oceans foam, and the model was
 his frank faced student--she of the tenement room. The two seemed ir reconcilable.
 Abruptly he left his untasted meal; 6 satirical smile curled his lips. So his sympathy had all been wasted, i'm posed upon. The green model of Fran quetta's was evidently in no need of pity.
 For a moment he hesitated before the glittering letters of the modiste's sign. then passed into the miniature theater. Before the parted curtain he waited. watching tensely the girlish figure framed in the gleaming lights Clad in bright green from shoulder to satin heel stood the girl whose appeal ing presence had so deeply stirred his heart.
 Mechanically, automatically, like some manikin in a play, she moved across the brilliant stage, displaying to an admiring audience the beauties of her costume. Bitterly the man turned from her steady painted smile to pass out again into the street. So the struggling art student. the beloved little student. had never been. Across his very memory of her must ever flash that crimson painted smile He frowned disapproval when next day the girl herself slipped quietly into her accustomed seat.
 May I tell you," she asked, ''the story of a green model who, unlike your difficult heroine, is not exactly as she seems. not exactly common place? Her story may even have heart interest"
 Wondering. he silently bowed his head. The girl laughed tremnlously.
 Flame Is an illusive thing" she quot ed. "One may more quickly find her because of ones ability to wear a cer- tain color than for the reward of tire less years of study. Over in America my old father and my mother and the sister who has always been sick wait for a success in art which was prophe- sled surely for me. To this purpose were carefully-oh, so carefully-hoard- ed the savings of years This had also been my fathers youthful dream-to go abroad and perfect his own sketch es, to achieve fame which critics prom ised. Marriage and later cares had forced this dream aside, but now it was to be fulfilled, gloriously fulfilled, in myself, the daughter.
 But that which had seemed an as- sured inherited talent at home became here doubtful promise, and at length the savings. were gOne-all gone! Do you see, then" she cried passionately, what l have been doing? Deceiving them all along; writing, as I fan cied the glow on their faces, of how one sketch had been accepted, of how another brought the check inclosed, and all the time-all the time I was but a dressmaker's model, a manikin in green. How else could one make money here alone in a foreign land? But now"-her voice broke despairing- ly-"how dare l go back, l with my mocking boast of art?'
 Something gripped hard at the mans throat, and his hand reached out to clasp the girls.
 Tomorrow" he said slowly-'tomor- row want to see those sketches"
 Tomorrow he saw them. AS he turn ed them over. looking intently at each, an expression of admiration gathered on his. face. When he came to the last he looked up at her and said:
 It's the old story-genius stopping to feed on crumbs from the rich mans table while 1t secured recognition"
 And to two old people seated before their farmhouse door there came one eve letter. Read it," said the moth CT. "It's from our girl beyond the sea-"
 The old man glanced quickly back from the closely written page. Why" he cried-"why, she's to illustrate that great authors new book, mother, our own little girlr'
 In speeches. joy they gazed into each others face. Then together they finished the letter.
 Books and pictures must ever wait for love-" wrote the girl, "so David Bronson and I are coming home to- gether. Your daughter has married the author"
 An Ominous Outlook.
 "The judge of my court is charac- ter," remarked the clerk. "He saw u >lo- aollo1 sCoyon noucs and hr fDl