The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1916-04-14

Harry's good cigars. Art, literature,
human nature, were each examined
carefully, the high lights commended,
the flaws condoned and let by ON pro-
baton.
Langford had embarked on a lengthy
Indictment of some safely dead realist.
Harry was listening closely and stor-
ing up the sophistries for the dazzling
OF client from Butte, Mont, who was
to begin the devil-may-caring of his
ian restaurant on Monday.
A gentle tap on the door abbreviated
brilliant platitude. Mile. Rebba met
Langford on the threshold. After
apologizing profusely for the Interrupt
ton, she begged leave to acquaint him
with the fact that below In her atelier
was a wealthy lady VINO did not object
to art. Au contraire, she had for it a
love Of the deepest. The lady was
collecting the works of the modern
masters.
She, grateful modiste, had whetted
that appetite for art with a descrip-
ton of Meester Langford's wonderful
work. She she had said, hand on
heart. monsieur was truly a master.
Could she lead here the madame?
Langford grinned self consciously
and modestly disclaimed utilization
with the masters union. But he grant
ed her permission to introduce lady.
AS the nam selle battered downstairs
Harry and Rudolph arranged them.
selves in the postures of intending pur
chasers before the nineteen unsold
masterpieces that hid the unpapered
walls.
Mrs. Comeyne surged In like the
newest ocean liner entering New York
harbor on her maiden trip. Proceed
ing to the exact middle of the floor, she
halted and awaited results. Langford
approached her shyly. He was nerv-
Gus. 1t was a historic occasion. She
was the first near buyer who had ever
been in his studio.
Mrs. Comeyne acknowledged Mile.
Rebbas introduction of the artist just
coldly enough to make him understand
a
great artist. He bowed low over her
hand and murmured unintelligibly.
Rudolph coughed suggestively. Lang.
ford introduced the brothers. Harry
said something about ordering a por-
trait Of his dead wife and apologetical-
ly mentioned a two ciphered price.
He retired, bowling, followed by Mile.
Rebba. Rudolph elected himself mas
ter Of ceremonies. He placed himself
squarely before the portrait of a scram-
bled egg that was titled "Sunset In
Venice"
"Ah, ah" he said, turning to Mrs.
Comeyne. did you ever see such
marvellous sense of color?"
She examined 1t anxiously through
her lorgnette, wiped the glasses. then
took a closer view.
Every, very fine" she murmured,
that little island is so natural"
"That is a gondola." broke In Lang
ford, aggrieved.
He was reduced to glowerilg silence
by frown from Rudolph.
"Ah, yes, to be sure. Do you know"
- to Rudolph Professor Dangler,
the well known critic? He is giving
our cultural circle such interesting
talks on art; he is so cultured. He says
that realism is the only true test Of
great art. That obelisk yelled by fog"
pointing with the lorgnette to Lang
ford's impression Of the Flatiron build
ing at daybreak-''is so realistic. l can,
almost distinguish the hieroglyphics on
1t. And that-er'-she peered more
closely-'that little boy chasing the
cow-how simple, how fresh, how
Rudolph exercised grin as he led
her away from the impression of
Spanish bullfght. Langford stood
glumly in q corner. He was very SEN
sitive about his art. Rather he would
starve, though he knew he need not
while some one remained from whom
he might borrow, than have 1t misun-
derstood. Especially did he detest the
mention Of realism.
But each time he attempted to speak
Rudolph's frown checked him.
Finally Rudolph pulled from a dust
shrouded pile Of debris what close ex-
animation proved to be a hunting
scene. Langford had intended to de-
pict pitiful little rabbit fleeing pack
of hounds. The hounds were variously
colOred, and their bodies blended into
the verisimilitude Of New England
crazy quilt. The rabbit seemed to be
leaping for an impression of hole In
the ground, while in the background an
impression of a huntsman was crying
on the impression Of the pack.
THAT" remarked Rudolph when he
had wiped the dust from 1t with one Of
Langford's string neckties which lay
to hand, ''is realism"
Langford groaned.
Mrs. Comeyne stood off to get better
view. She frowned connoisseurly and
stepped back little farther.
Dear mel" she murmured. at is