Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1919-08-26

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Jim. Your work is charming:
How do you know
because | have everything you
ever did! l sent for the magazines
and c tuthem out; and they are in my
She hesitated, breathless.. smiling
back at him out OF her beautiful
golden grey eyes as though chal-
longing him to doubt her loyalty or
her belief III him.
1t was rather curious, too, for the
girl was unusually Intelligent and
discriminating; and Neeland's work
was very, very commonplace.
His face had become rather sober.
but the smile still lurled on his
lips.
about my work. can draw pretty
well, according to school standards;
and l approach pretty nearly the
same standards in painting. Prob
ably that is why 1 became an in
structor at the Art League. But, so
far, l haven't done anything better
than what is called acceptable.
Il don't agree with YOU" she said
warmly.
IT'S, very kind of you not to- He
laughed and walked TO the window
again, and stood there looking out
across the suny garden; OF course,
he added over his shoulder, Il expect
to get along all right. Mediocrity
has the best of chances, you know"
You are not mediocre!
mo, l don't think 1 am. But my
work is. And, do you know" ne
continued thoughtfully, that is very
often the case with man who is
better equipped to act than to tell
with pen or pencil how others act.
I'm beginning to be afraid that I'm
that sort, because I'm afraid that
| get more enjoyment out of doing
things than in explaining with pencil
and. paint how they are done"
But Rue Carew, seated on the arm
of her chair, slowly shook her head:
~ don't think that those are the
only alternatives; do you?'
What other is there?"
She said, a little shyly:
ut hink it is all right to do things
if you like; make exact pictures CT
how things are done if you choose;
but it seems to me that If one really
has anything to say, one should
show in ones pictures how things
might be or ought to be. Don't
your"
He seemed surprised and interest
ed in her logic, and she took cour-
to speak again in her pretty, depre-
eating way:
eff the function of painting and
literature is to reflect reality, a
mirror would 90 as well, wouldn't
it? But to reflect what might be or
what ought to be requires some
thing more, doesn't it?"
Tina ination. Yes"
ga mind, anyway That is
what l have thought: but I'm not
at all sure I am right"
81 don't know The. mind ought
to be a mirror reflecting only the
essentials of reality"
And tat ts,t REQUIRES ima agal on
have
Have -" he returned smiling.
After a while you'll persuade me
that I possess your imagination. Rue.
But [ don't"
You do, JIM
I copy; you create, L ring changes
on what already is, you dissect,
skate over the surface of things
Oh, Lord I don't know what's
lacking in me-" he added within gay
Dretense of despair which possibly
I know this, Rue Carew! I'd rather
experience something interesting
than make a picture Of it. And I
suppose that confession is fatal"
why, Jim?"
Because with me she pleasures of
reality are substituted 10! lie pledS
ures of imagination. Not thai !
don't like to draw and paint. But
my ambition ir painting is and al
ways has been bounded by the WISH
BILE And, although that does 40,
prevent me from appreciation-from
understanding and admiriug your
work, for eXample-it sets an i'm
nregnable limit to any such aspira-
tor or My part
Ills mobile and youthful features
had become very grave; he stood !.
moment with lower ed head as though
what he was thinking Of depressed
his face and cleared it, and he said
gailv.
I'm an artistic Dobbi1; reliable,
| respectable sort Of Fi6o on whom
editors can derend that's all. Don't
feel sorry for me-" he added laugh
ing, my work will be very much