The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1916-05-01
The Euening Story
The Thatch and the Artist.

of the house and then at the back.
In the kitchen below, Bridget sang
happily, but excruciatingly, and out
side motors in unbroken succession
whizzed past.
Anne was visibly distracted. She
had tried every room in the house in
her effort to find seclusion and quiet.
Apparently such conditions did not
exist. Her stories were beginning to
show the strain under which she was
dragging them from her noise-racked
brain. "Soon. at this rate. 1 shall
have no checks coming in she told
herself as she banged out of the noisy
house and off through the meadows.
There, at least was freedom from
irritation. She could have an hour
or two of concentrated thought among
the green's and yellows of nature.
Anne had to walk through the will
age in order to reach that haven of
quiet. During that walk, she caught
sight of what seemed to her the very
thing she most needed in life.
At a rustic shop there was display
ed. a small matched summerhouse
Annes heart beat ecstatically. The
summerhouse., if the price were not
too great, would make perfectly
darling den. 1t could be placed at the
extreme foot of the garden, away from
barking dogs and Bridget's singing.
Anne tripped over the threshold of
the shop in her anxiety to secure the
treasure. 1t occurred to her suddenly
that she was all sorts of a small idiot
never before to have thought of such
simple means of seclusion.
The following day, she carried her
typewriter and low table down to the
matched and rustic summerhouse.
She smiled aftectionately upon Bird
get as she left the house with the last
load of writer's odds and ends. After
all, the Irish maid was treasure even
if her song was distracting.
That rustic summerhouse proved to
be one of the best investments of
Anne's literary career. The fifteen
dollars which she had paid for it had
seemed large enough at the time. but
when a few weeks of seclusion within
its shelter sent her stories into the
better magazines she rejoiced over
her purchase From time to time.
small improvements found their way
into the little den. Powered Gre
tonnes covered Anne's desk and chair
and a picture or two crept into the
honey atmosphere. A tiny bit of
lace draped the single window, and
toward midsummer vines held the
rough exterior in loving embrace. She
Kept her tiny percolator on an i'm
provised shelf within easy reach, and
altogether the summerhouse became
most satisfactory workshop. Anne
realized that she could never again
go back to a house peopled by other
work
1t was not until the cool autumn
days came on that she realized that a
means of protection against chilly
days must be considered.
So she purchased tar paper with
which to seal up small apertures
against the entrance of unfriendly
draughts.
1t was while engaged in this laud-
able business of making herself proof
covered several ola canvases. They
were stored away between the dusty
and weatherstained layers of the
wheat straw which formed the roof
covering.
At sight of them the creative ele-
ment in Anne was seized with sudden
inspiration. Surely a worthwhile
story of some nature should develop
from these abandoned and probably
long-forgotten paintings.
She laughed aloud as she saw the
first one. Surely no less artistic use
of paint and canvas had ever been
made. And each one seemed more
absurd and toneless than its predeces-
sor. So far as art was concerned,
these paintings were scarcely on a
level with Bridget's singing.
Surely the story of a sad or even
tragic finish hung closely about these
deserted canvases! 1t took some time
for Anne to recognize the fact that the
sketches had been made in the mead
ows through which she so often walk
ed for inspiration. One less familiar
with the landscape might have mis-
taken the sorry affairs for scenes in
China.
Poor soul,' soliloquized Anne
rs there anything so sad in life as
missing ones ideals?"
Then she sat down at once and
worked out delightfully."- romantic tale
about those canvases found in the
thatch. No doubt the plot was bro
midic, but che story had novelty and
charm enough to sell for an unusually
large sum.
In her story. Anne had been so real
istic in her treatment as to quote
lines she had discovered on the back
of a wooden box which had once held
paint tubes. Farewell to art-Gran-
VILE" was the touching and suggest
i've legend Anne had smiled when
had been no art to bid farewell to.
But apparently the painter had
thought differently. Anne wondered
if he had gone back to the brushes
haunting magazine offices with stragg-
ling hair. wild eyed and an armfui of
atrocious drawings.
AS a matter of fact, Jack Granville,
a month later, was comfortably en-
sconced in his most luxurious arm
chair smoking good cigar. His hair
WAS short cropped, his eyes were
wild only with the life that sparkled
in them and there was nothing at all
in his general makeup to suggest Bo-
hernia or the artistic temperament
1t was the hour of his rather hearty
bachelor breakfast and bis six feet
of decided masculinity was still envel-
oped in a euturist-patterned dressing
gown which he had slipped on after
his cold bath. A cup of excellent cof-
fee steamed on a table beside him and
copy of a popular magazine lay
open on the broad arm of his chair
His valet whistled softly in the ad-
joining room
"'Stubbs," called out Granville sud-
denly. Get Evans on the wire.
want to talk with him.
int