Evening star., 1932-01-10

JE had painted madly, wildly. He had
spoiled one canvas Then another. And
finally he had caught the thing he wanted and
held it..
He had not wondered at the patience of the
girl nor stopped to think that she was content
ed to come because she loved him He had sup
posed that it was the picture that putting
mad fire into his veins. Moon madness, gypsy
red, that touched them with its passion and
held them close. Just the picture
You can't keep love when you bind It,"
he had told the girl. ITO seize rapture, hold it
lightly, yet tightly then set it adrift when the
dream Is done-isn't that enough?"
He had spun colors in his words, as well as
on his canvas, in those days. He had tried to
forget love by pretending that he had not
known IT, The girl had watched the shining
ribbon that ran up the waves to the moon.
Marguerite YOU understand, don't you?"
he pleaded and he had believed her when she
nodded
He had gone away.
When the picture had been proclaimed great
by the world he knew, when the crowds had
finished their adulations, and he had received
the coveted prize, he lonely.
Fame did not satisfy Not when he remem
bered that a girl with windy green eyes had
come dancing down golden beach as the late
tide rumbled in. He had thought that
memory would be pleasant thing to talk
young
He had gone back to the Pirate House."
one year, hunting for the old magic His pic
lures were proclaimed great now matter
of course. But they were not as lovely as the
one which he had painted when the gypsy
fires ran high in his blood The critics said so.
He did not find Marguerite at the pirate
House" He had known that she would be
gone She would not sway to the rhythm, Of
course, as the years crept by. Another danced
in her place. girl whose body was slim and
whose eyes were black where Marguerite's had
been graygreen.
He had asked for the girl whom he had
known but no one could tell him where she
had gone.
She went away" they said. "She was here
one Summer. She could dance, that girl"
He didn't listen to the comments. Not even
when the manager hinted that she might have
done well in chorus.
She was not for choruses, he told himself.
Not one of a chain of girls who did their steps
in routine. She was dawn glow and Autumn
wind. She belonged on beach by
the sea.
After that he put her from his mind as much
as he could But now and then, when he
burned to do something great, and his brushes
scattered colors that held no magic, he re-
membered
|
! ! Some alchemy gone. He had told
himself that If he could find the girl who had
modelled for his Youth" the charm would
come back. He would paint great picture.
The rain was coming more slowly now The
man smiled. A crooked twist of the lips that
wac not merry. Only fools sat In lonely rooms
at midnight and dreamed he told himself.
Summer was over. He wondered how memory
could linger so.
The steps had stopped and he had not no
ticed. Now he heard them again. Almost at
the top of the last flight of stairs. little
slower than they had been.
He knew that it had been odd to advertise
in the newspapers for model Still, he had
known of no one among the names on his
list who could portray the hopelessness of age
as he wanted to put it into this next picture.
Age with broken dreams around her feet,
tripping her as she tried to walk. Age whose
eyes saw the lit of all that had been gladness
riding nait fn