The New York herald., 1921-01-02

She is further allied to those who write In
that her drawing of men and women is
purely creative. The musician has notes to
follow the actor lines to commit, but the
hapless writer must make up" every bit OF
his little expression in life. And, again, May
horns in on this column for she Is one OF
the few illustrators who works without
models, arranging her groups OF characters
with nothing more tangible than the mental
pictures which the text brings to her. This
does not mean she depends upon inspiration
for correct periods of architecture and fur
nishings The first time she went to Europe
with us she kept her sketch book and camera
handy eternally noting correct data for her
stories. (You observe that say her stories
she engulfs us that way) / remember
one day as we waited in hotel courtyard
for the motor she was unusually behung
with maps stoles, guides, bags and goggles.
"Does any one see camera on me?" she
asked anxiously.
In Europe She Was Always Happy
When She Worked off Subjunctive
hated that camera. She is the kind of
a person who looks decent in a snap shot
well, that very morning she had wanted
to get a typical French bedroom with me
in the bed-for proportion. not beauty
wore boudoir cap. 1 don't know why.
l, is Frank Crowninshield the editor OF
Vanity Fair, who says that "caps are for
the toys OF men,. May ndu al cIidlI up VII d
chest of drawers and the camera on that,
and cannot but think. IN spite of Crowney's
words that if she had not been obliged to
leap up in the air when she pressed the bulb,
the results would have been happier
seemed to look like the wolf snoozing as it
waited for Little Red Riding Hood-the wolf
after it had eaten the grandmother and put
on her cap. May wondered why the pictures
I took of her in her boudoir cap were all
bank. have never spoken of it before, but
I Just couldn't stand her looking toyey.
Although good at photography she had
some pleasing deficiencies. She is not a
l.nguist. She studies. She has sturdy way
of going at things which is one OF her most
endearing qualities In Austria she went out
with her hand book of phrases but she never
got further than saying to our cab driver:
Have you a Bible?" He was a funny little
csbby and he kept getting down and looking
under his horse while he laughed, so as not
to affront his ladies'" Such good old times
What was it Sophie Arnoud said: "Oh.
those beautiful days. those beautiful days
when I was unhappy"
In Italy May was wont to repeat from her
phrase book: Let examine the beds
while there is yet time" which got us into
a good deal of trouble at the inns; but she
went in very heavily for French. There"
she would exclaim at the close of labored
conversation with madame of the cafe
caisse, 1--we worked a subjunctive off on
her" speak of French conversation in the
cafes for 1t was difficult to drag her forth
for any Improvement of her mind. She got
into a blind rage when led within hundred
yards of museum. and look back upon
Florence except on those happy nights when
We went to the movies. something of a
trial. II was agreed that she would go to
one gallery day If at the end of the day
i would tell her where we had been. I'm
not much on this rnassed art myself but
did my duty by her. OF course she chose
to wear. throughout Italy, patent leather
pumps. which predisposes one to cafe table
/ remember she had pried off these shoes
one evening after dinner as we sat at our
window overlooking the Arno. She was put
ting me through my PAGES. pretending igno-
rance of the fact that the Ufizzi Gallery had
been our stint gave it the full value of
the pronouncing dictionary. May lifted her
b.istered, burning feet. "Oh, Ufizzi-oh you
Eeetsie!" murmured my friend.
May Tells What Happened at Her House
And We Try to Make Story of II
I sometimes think she does not stop often
enough In her Interpretation of purely ma
terial instances of life to look up at the stars
But once as we swung open the leather door
OF the cathedral at Milan a high note of
music lifted us into the vast dimness Her
eyes caught mine-and there was look i'm
her face 1t was just a look-I can't put Il
INTO WOruS. L saw the look again the day
she and VIII Irwin and some one who is no
longer here and myself gained the top of our
first Alpine pass. II was sunset and there
was rosy snow beneath us and sapphire
ether above. I saw the look then. before
we went into the inn to work off a subjunc-
tive. Perhaps we need not look at the stars
II they are hidden in our hearts
Away back at the beginning of this column
when l thought 1t going to be a well
ordered little essay / called May vicarious
writer because she incites others to write
It's this way: May tells what has Just hap
pened at her house and we make a story of
II. And send II to a magazine. Then IL comes
back. 1t isn't funny we engagingly writc
II down. don't think print can be earnest
enough. THE thing is," says May. and then
we hear of her trying TO get a butler small
enough to fit Jamess old dress suit, or of
his school hours and got spanked by his
mother the cook. i'm the midst Of a dinner
party. 1t split James's suit, too. Or of her
tremendous adventures with her Ford: OF
her jammng down the brakes the first time
she timorously drove into town when that
big policeman at Thrty-third street threw
up his hand. How the Ford made a complete
half circle that May went right on back
though she had wanted to do IL. And she
didn't dare go south again for hours.
Julian Street once paid her twenty dollars
for a plot right in the midst OF our poker
game. but did better than that I wrote
the story Of her fathers horse and she made
the drawings for IL. That Is. all but the
horse. James drew in the horse after con-