The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1919-08-05
EVENING STORY
Romance in Pigments.
BY DORA NOLAN

sunset. Still a bachelor after forty,
a short, stockily built man with more
than a little gray in his hair. no now
elist would have picked him for the
hero of a romance. Yet il was with
longing for romance in his soul that
this man turned from the gorgeous
blaze of. colors to the somber study
and then, having nothing better to do
at the moment, wandered over the big
house thru room after room, inspect
ing it critically for the first time in
his life.
Z The mansion had been built when
a family of even moderate means
considered a combination living and
dining room a makeshift arrangement
of the very poor. Johns mother had
deemed twenty rooms none too many
for family of three ''in their posi-
ton" and had furnished them in the
fashion of the time with black walnut,
gloomy damask curtains and velvet
carpets.
For the first time it occurred to
John Hemstead that his mother had
ordered his life much as she had the
family home. She had never seen fit
to change the homes depressing
atmosphere. neither had she ever held
out any encouragement to John to
marry and make a home of his own.
A two weeks hunting trip in the
fall, a fortnight of fishing in the
spring and an equal number of days
spent on a combined business and
pleasure trip to New York every Feb
ruary, with all the intervening work
ing hours spent in his mills and the
evenings at the small city club-this
had comprised John Hemstead's life
It was time for the New York trip
and a special article in a recent Sun
day newspaper was brought back to
John as he gaZed at the sunset again
from an upper window.
The article told of a section of New
York with which he was not familiar,
Greenwich Village, described charac-
teristics and fancies of the people liv-
ling there, and their latest fad for re-
claiming gloomy old buildings which.
had passed down the scale from hous-
ing the well-to-do to accommodating
impecunious dodgers. 1t related in de-
tail some transformations and the
color schemes used in bringing them
about
New York above Twenty-third street
John knew fairly well, but this un-
known region offered inducements of
new experiences.
He was not so old--or was it the
slight suspicion of spring in the air
that caused the vague discomfort and
longing? John grinned at himself as
he made a decision. But neverthe-
less he Immediately felt ten years
younger.
But this adventurer was not ac-
customed to carrying his own suit
case or trapesing the streets look
ing for a place to lay his head. AS
he searched the so-called Bohemia.
however, he found all its done-over
houses fully occupied.
So it was with thoughts straying
reluctantly toward the Plaza that
Hemstead turned a corner and into
short, narrow street where one house
brick=colored neighbors. Painted the
color the Chinese call peach blossom
pink, with shutters of dull green and
a doorway in an indescribable shade
Of rose red, it enraptured his eye.
Twisting the ring on his finger for
luck, as. he had done when a small
boy, John Hemstead rang the bell.
And the woman who opened the door
held romance in her eyes. They were
velvety black, as was her hair, but
the clear. transparent skin was guilt
ness of cosmetics.
John caught some vague sugges-
ton of the Oriental. yet when she
spoke it was with an accent that
could have originated only at Rad
cliffe.
Yes. there is a small apartment
unoccupied at present" Then, after
she continued, You may have it if it
pleases YOU
Compelling his eyes from the dark,
1.-THE figure, the man in search of adj
venture glanced in at the large room.
The blaze of color for the moment al
most dazed him. why. it's a sunset"
Hemstead exclaimed involuntarily.
Yes; that was my inspiration"
For the next two weeks John Hem
stead lived in a dream from which he
dreaded to awake. For the first time
in his life he was experiencing the in
fluence of color-color as an element:
a factor in existence. color in physical
things, color in the heart of life itself.
1t had come upon him so suddenly
that he could remember almost moth
ing of that first interview save that
the mistress and creator of this mouse
of symphonic coloring had said she
was Geraldine Wynne.
He was living in a room where the
filmy silk curtains repeated the color
Of the tiny flames in the CRATE; one
corner held a purple desk; another.
orange bookshelves; the floor, too,
was orange and the walls delicate
mauve; there were chairs In subtle
blends of color for which the prosaic
business man could find no names.
What wonder. then, that JohE
Hemstead, save as his business ur-
gently demanded, saw nothing OF
New York except this house, or that
he fairly lay in wait for glimpses OF
his fascinating landlady?
Perhaps il was merely because
Hemstesd looked what he was,
courteous gentleman. that Miss Wynne
often PAUSED in her trips thru the hall
to talk to him.
Not until the second week, how
ever, did she invite John down to her
work room and in her clear. haunt
ing voice, speak of her love of color.
She explained that she must have alb
sorbed it in China, where, as con-
suPs daughter, she spent her forma-
tive years.
Clad in an enveloping smock, mix
ing her pigments, she told him how
she worked out her color schemes
entirely herself. 1t was the only way
she could afford to indulge her Tar-
cies And Hemstead. who coulr Mt
remember that he Lad ever held
paint brush in his hand, was allowed
to spread a wonderful blend over
chair.
Probably if this middle-aged bach
eIor had not received a telegram