Evening star., 1932-11-27

EN- LOOMS was hungry. 1t had
been two days since he had eaten
u those stale doughnuts purchased with
~ his last nickel.
He sat with palette dangling from
his hand, gazing listlessly at the hall
finished picture on the easel. 1t was to be
picture of sea gulls.
Even sea gullS had something 10 eatt 1eS'
even stray dogs even wharf rats, had food!
He looked out of the window and saw resort
hotel truck numbering along with load OF
rich foodstuffs for vacationistS. Food for dln-
ners that would be minced over.
Over wonder in the bay was yacht, lying
indolently in the sunlight Those people
lounging on its deck could, OF course Duy
hotel if they chose Or packing house. Or
a bakery
The laugh of youngster floated up from a
nearby yard. The silly creature was probably
eating an ice cream cone, probably a double
decker cone from Adams drug store.
LEN LOOMS got up from his chair and
r walked over to the closet. There he began
feeling in the pockets Of his coat. Coulo ne
possibly have overlooked half-eaten chocolate
bar?
He knew he hadn't for he had already made
such search a hundred times.
Then he started back toward his easel, and a
sudden fright seized him. He felt dizzy.
Cold sweat beaded over his face as he
slumped again his chair. He cutcheo
frantically at the chair arms. Im-Im starV-
ing to death!" he thought.
He must do something quickly No matter
II he had already pawned everything except tine
suit of clothes he was wearing.
There came to him a vision of a gTuh old
man talking angrily with bobbing chin whisk-
ers and flashing eyes. The old man was say
ing: There's too many people slttln around
paintin' and doin' fool things already. Kenneth
ooV,sf ho cfaV
here on the farm with me. I'm ready t turn
tn farm over to you-Stock an all. But II you
go traipsing off down there to that Province
town place. then you don't need t be lookm
t. me for help.
Out there in Kansas the cantaloupes would
he about ripe in the patch down back of the
orchard The sunny-sweet apples were prob
ably a golden yellow, too And Kens mother
she had sided with his father against the
artistic career-would be putting up preserves
and baking black raspberry pies.
On Sunday there would be fried chicken with
silken mashed potatoes and fat corn field beans.
There were always huge crooks OF cold mix
and mounds of deep golden butter, too.
Even tramp would receive feast at the
Loomis back door!
"I don't see why dad couldn't have tired
lust a little to understand" Ken meditated
bitterly. HE was always talking about how
much he loved me. He thinks Ill come crawl
ing home. But wont!'
Great careers were attained by plodding on
through starvation-and shipwrecks-and tor
s-and-and-pestience. And by the
holy heavens! he was going to stick.
He turned to his easel and began to ply his
brush vigorously Work was the thing. Good
work and lots Of it. Just think about MS
work-and there would be money. Why couIdn |
his father have had just little appreciation
of art?
But again his brush Jagged; his face dark
ened and he gritted his teeth. He smelled
coffee! The whole world was redolent with
fragrances of food.
He threw down his palette and brush and
started for the door in disgust. He would take
walk He must get out and move and make
sure he still alive.
He swung down along Commercial street
walking rapidly as if to ward off return OF
dizziness. The gay throng in the narrow little
street seemed studiously unaware OF his
presence He bumped into other people, stared
after them, but they paid no heed to him.
other artists, carefree and happy, chatted as
they passed. Beaming tourists raced from one
"cute" object to another. Big motors, weaving
in and out of the traffic honked der1sively
Even the grimy-faced Portuguese kids seemed
to be laughing surreptitiously at him.
IE looked in at a restaurant window. HI
] saw greedy people fussing over steamini
food terrible impulse came over Ken Loomi
to smash everybody over and help hin1sel!
A man had to eat-and there plenty o
food
He came abruptly to Winthrops Art Store
Tourists were crowding at windows to see Wha
these queer Cape Cod artists were painting
They talked with each other about pickin