Evening Star Newspaper, March 6, 1897, Page 17

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY," MARCH 6, 1897—24 PAGES. and he will have no more earnest supporter than I will be. With dissension in our ranks nothing can be done; so I want the backing of every man in the union, and DONNENONT A IWONOWOWRND NEWONO PEPOIS QUE WWON | more especially of the man who thinks I G we) x X ei 2) seh sehoe hs ‘| have been a traitor—which I declare to ‘ (ef him and to you I was not. Now, Gibbons, heen - * this has been an open question-and-answer méeting. There has been a free-for-all give 5 tia 1 and take here tonight. I have a last ques- tion to ask you: 2G you going to be my 5 friend or my enemy?” BY ROBERT BARR. There were cries of “Toe the mark, Gib- PAN ——_ = bens.” “Time.” “Speak up, my boy.” = “Show your hand, Gibbons.” ne Loa ah ge ened reas tatere Gibbons, who had now recovered bis a POPE ee Pe equanimity, rose to his feet and said: “I 2K move, gentlemen, that Marston be con- = ‘5 eee firmed in his secretaryship of the union, : and I hope the vote will be unanimous. We ate will give him what he asks—a fair chance— : and as long as he deals squarely with us , we will deal squarely with him.. As far as Written for ‘The Evening } There was tremendous cheering at this, | My ‘friendship or enmity is concerned, I (Continued from last Saturday.) | and it was some time before Gibbons could | may say that I'm a friend to any one who 3 | proceed. Marsten sat silent in his chair, | 4, loyal to the cause and an enemy to those hapter XXIX—Continued, with the helpless feeling of a criminal in who are against it. I think that is all that Marsten resolved to let nothing stand in | the dock. He felt the chain of circumstance can be asked of me or any man present.” the way of success. He believed he could | Sehtening around him. The motion was seconded and carried more than earn any salary they gave him, | _ “Braunt was a hero in death, and a hero | unanimously, and the object for which the d ac Lest, ‘!in life. He was frankly and honestly | meeting was convened was lost sight of and no man in London had a greater in- | against us from the first, and he fought us | entirely. centive for maki and accumulating | with an uprightness that I wish Sartwell Marsten went on with his work of or- money than he had: nevertheless, he de- | had emulated. He took no strike pay, and | ganization, and met with much encourage- sired above all things to hold the good | used langusge against us which I hope has | ment from the societies with which he en- ae hn. and to convince them | B&eh forgotten, and which I know has been | tered into correspondence. Whatever op- Ee ee ee “g | forgiven. There was nothing underhand | position there was to him in his own union, that he was working for them, and not for |in his opposition, and he broke the back | it at least did not show itself openly; but Timself. He realized that alone he was | of the strike by hitting from the shoulder | Marsten did rot make the mistake of think- powerless, but with their united support he | When he had reached the desperation of | ing Gibbons was his friend. was inv He « salar] a meeting to reconsider the secret Hed of the cussed had more interest than his aban- | done] educational campaign, the purpose of which was to teach them the principles of combination. Most of the men thoughi | him a fool in not knowing his own good luck. | Marsten, addressing them, said that his | vle object in taking the secretaryship to bring about an amalgamation of or which would make the results of fu- | strikes a certainty. All the rights nkind possessed had been won by battle: the battles must be successful, and | success was only possible when there was | no dissension in the camp. He frankly | “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, J that he had learned there was some | é ion because he got more money | t earned by many who labored in ad he had made an estimate of he could hve upon, which w the poorest-paid employe of the rks received. He was willing to accept and would devote his whole time | the cause of labor a¢ faith- | were given ten times the | Gibbons, who had at last found employ ment in the neignborhood, here rose to hi feet. He said he thought the office of se could be still more economically | He was sure they had men among | m, now in employ, who would act as | cretary witbout salary from the union, | erform all the duties quite acceptably majority of the men. Why didn’t you propose that when you were secretary yourself, Gibbons?" asked one of the audience, at which there was some laughter. “I did not do so because I was at that time out of work,” replied Gibbons, warm- his theme. don’t wish to say a 1 against the present secretary, but I would like to ask him a question or two. He seemed once of opinion that Sartwell was a very shrewd, far-seeing man. I would ike to know, Mr. Marsten, if you are still of t opinion?” “I am,” answered Marsten. ; oe J can 2 explain to the meeting taken no further steps | ripple the union, which we all know he smash, and, in fact, did threaten mash? Why did he not, 1 ng back ™m. ™ c at they 1d le How to ¢ desired t to say. ho o be an € yugh he may and I don't ne personal sh i Sartwe among us. It is a little remark- cause more | Do you know why in bbons, calmly, wer. I am ¥ have been nd J think | ave the courtesy wer many re ble question— | You say you Want the support whose se it ou are. That is ; to bestow that we | knowl. of tme, do narged you?” rsonal quarrel be- h which this meet- n We were fightin; prefer us to know nothing press for a more specific is bound to incriminat given Mr. Marsten ertain obscure poi d some of us, and I think wrung from him, with only reiu have not bettered tion, nor made any thinking man more ready to bestow that ch our secretary seems s0 I would like now to call © one or two points. Right- the committee with which I pts of the loyalty of ike begap he himself ad- that he had been closeted with Sart- d we know that while the fight Was on he was only man who had a confere: with the enemy, and the only man who was able to tell us of the enemy's plans—unfortunately when it was too late to make that knowledge useful to us. Wherever there was a crisis we found Mr. Mars eloquent on the side of giving in hrough affection for the men, of cow I am ma *& no accusations; I am mer himself a ing facts that Mr. Marsten and if I am mistaken in young man is here tacts had a certain committee, causing a to arise in their minds—a feeling Marsten, for some reason, was Ss ty vlease Sartwell than to iow workers win. Now, what The strike ends, and we are sur- prised to see that the only man dismissed is Mr. Marsten. The next move is that the young man is made secretary of the union by a practically unanimous vote. I say that vote was to the credit of the men, and bad I been present I would have voted for Mr. Marsten. But let us look into the matter @ little closer. Who agitated the election of our new seeretary? I now come to a difficult point, and I want to make myself perfectly clear ‘and to speak with absolute justice. ‘Say no ill of the dead’ < @ noble motto, and I have nothing but jood to say of that hero, Braunt. Greater raise hath no man than this, s life to save others.” imits, I say he gave y, and that meeting | Was well attended; for the subject to be dis- | | result is a chain of circumstantial evidence | #fter such a declaration.” utter exhaustion. But, while giving full credit to the splendid character of Braunt, we must not forget that throughout he was our stanch opponent, and that it was he who elected Mr. Marsten secretary of this union Now, gentlemen, I am a plain man, who not think himself any better than the average. I do not look for angels with among my fellow workers. I lcok for plain, every-day motives when trying to trace cause from effect. It is not natur- al for a man to beg for a reduction of his Chapter XXX Ingenious persons have shown that a five- almost unlimited amount of Hability. Let It be granted, says the mathematician, that A owes B, B owes C, C owes D, and D owes A—one hundred shillings in each case. A gives a five-pound note to B, who gives it to C, who gives It to D, who gives it to A. The peregrinations of the same note wipes screw unless that man is an angel, or un- | out one hundred pounds of debt, and A has less there is some hidden cause for his | the original bit of paper he started with. deing so. We strike to increase our wages, In like manner a clever person can be- stow a great favor upon another and at the same time accommodate several others, leaving all under obligations to him, while a blunderer, instead of making everybody happy, would have accomplished nothing beyond creating enemies for himself. The shrewd Haldiman, bringing some promised work to the editor of Our Na- tional Art, casually mentioned that Bar- nard Hope had been invited to send some of his paintings to Paris. “What! Do you mean the Chelsea giant? Why, that ass doesn’t understand the rudi- ments of drawing, and as for color—great heavens! There isn’t a pavement chalk artist who is not his superior.” Haldiman looked puzzled; then he said, with some hesitation: “I confess I used to think that; but, of course,” we studied together in Paris, and we students always underestimate each other. There is something in Barney's paintings that I don't pretend to under- stand.” “Understand! Bosh. There’s nothing in them but the vilest and most ignorant smearing ever put upon canvas.” “Then how do you account for the fact that some of the most advanced critics are beginning to consider Barney seriously as a new factor in the art world?” “T hadn't heard of it. Who, for instance?” “Well, I'm told that Viellieme simply raves over his work—says it’s a distinctive new note, and that Barney 1s the only orig- inal genius England has ever produced.” “You amaze me. It can't be true. What- ever any one may say of Viellieme’s moral nature, no one can deny that he knows a picture @hen he sees it.”” “Of course; I'm simply giving what I have heard. As I say, I don’t admire Bar- ney’s work myself. However, I'm just off for Paris, and I'll find out for you, on the quiet, just what Viellieme thinks. If Bar- ney is a coming man you'd want to know it and at least give the first inkling of the new craze, if there is to be one, wouldn't you?” ‘Certainly; but I can’t believe it.” “I'm not sure that I ought to mention it, but I know that a number of Barney's paintings are going over to France, and 1 believe especially for Viellieme’s inspec- tio “I say, Haldiman, just find out for me all you can, will. you? It seems incredible. Still, art is full of surprises, and I should like to know. If it is true, try to induce Viellieme to write an article on the new era in art for me.” “Would you prigt an article on Barney if I get Viellieme to*write it? 1 thought you didn’t eare for Barney's work.” “I don't, but I'll gladly print anything Viellieme will sign. Of course, among the different schools I endeavor to maintain absolute impartiality. I believe in letting every side be heard.’ s “Well, I'll do my best.” “Thanks, Haldiman. J'll be very much obliged to you, and any expense you—’ “Oh, don't mention it. I'm going to Paris anyhow, so there won't be any extra ex- pense.” The article, marvelously illustrated, ap- peared in due course. The result quite justified Barney's expectations and ex- penditure, and the Barnard Hope boom raged up and down the land. He was in- terviewed, and photographed, and para- graphed. For a time it was hardly possible to pi up a sixpenny illustrated weekly without seeing the latest photograph of Barney in it, for the young man developed a genius for posing before a camera that would have done credit to our greatest actor. The picture representing him stand- ing with arms folded across his breast, a stern, commanding expression upon his countenance, was the one perhaps most sought after by young ladies, although the one in which he looked like Rembrandt was also very popular. Exhibitors begged for his paintings, nabobs bought them, and no- body understood them, which fact made the boom a permanency. Real painters looked at each other in amazement and asked, “What is the world coming to?’—a question often propounded and never ade- quately answered. His great fame did not change Barney a particle, he was the same hail fellow he had always been, and an invitation to his t Home” bezame a distinction. Amer- ica was especially lavish in its purchases of his work, and he was offered fabulou sums to go there and lecture. The adula- tion he received would have turned the head of altaost any man, pui it had litue effect on him, b: se ne never had the slightest misgiving that his great reputa- tion was entirely undeserved, and he had looked upon himself as the foremost man of the age long before the world had recog- nized the fact. He received letters from all parts of the country, whose writers, in most gushing phrase, said they had been privileged to look upon his work at such and such an exhibition, and they hoped to live better and nobler lives in consequence. Some of these epistles affected Harney al- most to tears, and he read them to his friends, humbly thankful that the gift of bestowing such pleasure and wielding such an influence for good upon his fellow crea- tures had been granted him. Imitators arose, of course, but they did little to tarnish his reputation; for, as Haldiman had said, there was ‘only’ one Barney, and it 1s never given to two men in any one generation to paint as badly as Barney did. Art critics scored the imita- tors mercilessly, and were in the habit of saying that if Barnard Hope had not lived such and such a picture would not have been painted—which statement was prob- ably quite true. Barney’s people were naturally very proud of him. His father had always ad- mired him with the intense admiration which a very little man has for a very Lig and I have never heard of a deputation of workingmen waiting on an employer to | ask for a reduction. Mr. Marsten does what we know to be most unusual and what we believe to be unnatural. What is his motive? Who is going to make up the THE CHELSEA GIANT?” . Geficiency in his salary? These are ques- tions for you to answer. I have tried to state nothing but facts, and no statement I have made has been contradicted. The that would convict a man jn any court in the le Men have been hanged on evi- dence less complete.” Gibbons sat down amid almost universal applause. Marsten rose to his feet slowiy. He knew he had to bring it around in his favor or lose the race before it began. ‘There flashed through his mind the sen- tence, “It is not the capitalist who will de- feat yeu, but the men you are fighting for.” He remembered Braunt's utter lack of faith in the rope of sand. Then he spoke: “I have listened attentively to what ‘has been said, and I have listened without in- terruption because I have sat spellbound by the cleverness of the speech, admiring its force and logic, and deeply regretting the fact that I have not the eloquence and gifts of the speaker who has just sat down. Two things are at this moment uppermost in my mind. First, that if some stranger were in my place, and I were sitting among you, I should believe him gullty. Second, there has come over me a feeling of sym- pathy with any man who has been con- demned on circumstantial evidence. I know now, as I never did before, that many poor wretch hes gone to an undeserv death. Gibbons, you have throughout re ferred to me as Mr. Marsten. I disclaim the ‘Mr.,” as doubtless you do, so I shail call you plain Gibbons. ‘Gibbons, you have defeated me. The meeting I have called to- gether is against me and for you.” ‘There were cries of dissent at thi “Oh, yes, it is. I will prove it in by putting it to Vote, if you Ik “Hold on!” cried Gibbons; “that ts not fair. 1 protest against a vote being taken minute am going to take no unfair advantage, and only spoke of a vote because my as- sertion seemed to be doubted. Now, Gib- bons, you aske@ me several questions: I m the right to put a few to you, and I 1 >u to answer as honestly as if you Were on oath. Do you actually believe that I am in the pay ef Sartwell?” “I didn't say so. Do you believe I am?” “Yes, 1 do. ,object could Sartwell have in buy- S too self-evident. If he con- controls the action of the un- Please explain how. No act 6 ken without a majority votes 2” Pe hat’s it exactly. ‘That's why you are begging for our confidence and support, so at when the time cemes you can deliver twell what he pays for. - Did Sartwell ever offer to buy never did. He knew better.” sever offer to sgll yourself to that? What do you mean?” the question in another way. a private letter to Sartweli “Tl put Did you write a few days before the strike ended?” Gibbons rose to his feet in such evident confusion that several of the crowd laugh- ed, and all weie in a state of tense excite- ment. This was the kind of thing they liked. Marsten was ying the w: ieee carrying the war into “What are you accusing me ot Gibbens. “Like yourself, I am making no accusa- tions. Did you send such a letter or not™ 8 leader of the strike I may—* ‘0, no. Answer yes or no.’ me explain. I say—' ‘First answer the question, Gibbons.” “I refuse to be coerced in thig manner. I am willing to answer anything, but must be allowed to answer in my own way.” “No man is bound to incriminate himself, Gibbons, as you remarked a while ago. Since we cannot get an answer to that cried questior., T will ask another. Will you give | relative; his mother referred to him as me permission to read your Sartwell letter | “My son, Barnard Hope, the celebrated to this meeting?” painter.” Gibbons was dumfounded, and forgot en- tirely, in his agitation, that the letter had been returned to him, remembering only that its contents were not for the general Han His attitu€e was that of conscious guilt. “Read it, read it!" cried the crowd, and the shouts seemed to arouse Gibbons to a sense of the situation. “I protest against the reading of a pri- vate letter in public,” he stammered. “And quite right, too,” sald Marsten. “I protested against the public discussion of a private quarrel, and the protest was held against me. Now, I have no desire to push my opponent to the wall, and I will say at once that the letter in question may be as irnocent ‘Mary had a little lamb.’ I never read it and never saw it. I heard of {t through a chance remark, but I know nothing of its contents. You see how easy ft 1s to ask a question a man hesitate to answer, and you see of how Ifttle value ciroumstantial evidence is. Now, Gibbons, we are quits, and I am willing to let by- gones be bygones if you are. I ‘give you my word—and that ts all I have to offer, for I'm the poorest among you—that I am not in the pay of any one on earth except yourselves. I swear to you that I have only one object in view, and that is the bettering of our Au I ask is fair play. Perhaps I can’t do what I I can, but I want to try. If I fail, then le! the next man come on and have his try, To all appearances Barney was a man greatly to be envied, but, alas! how little does the public know the inner life of even its greatest favorite. All may be fair to outward view, while within sits brooding care. Barney had a secret trouble which he confided to no ore, and it caused him secious mental dissatisfaction. He had told Edna Sartwell that she had blighted his life, and he fully believed this at the time he made the gloomy statement. He som- berly pictured hin:self in the future as a disappointed man—successful, perhaps, but cynically bitter with existence, living the Ufe of a recluse, and cherishing his broken heart. As the victim of a hopeless pas- sion, he pitied himself, and yet took a melancholy pleasure in cuminating over the wreck of what might have been a joyful career. To his dismay he fou; it im- possible to live up to he ideal. ‘The forced laugh, the pessimistic smile, the dark man- tle of a great reserve which he hoped to fold around himself, did not come natural to him, and he was continually beckslid- ing into being his own hilarious, boister- ous self, and having a good time, whem he should have been moping alone over an *Kbowe ail’ th hings him. re all these t! he ex, S self to forswear ladies’ society ae mee again indulge in the light, flippant and eanpiinentery talk in oe had been an acknowledged hy it grieved him to discover that still took a keen pound note rightly guided will liquidate an_ + delight in their presence, while they, poor dears, unblushingly adored Barney as they had always done. His arrival In any room immediately brightened the occasion, and he was by all odds.the mé¥t pofular young man in his set. His failure in’ the tragic role he had marked out fbr hinffelt at first worried Barney and led him to suspect that he was not so deep.as he_had imag- ined, but this disquieting thought gave way under his ultimateqrealigation that the. taciturn recluse of fldctio and the drama was merely a melancholy humbug who did not exist in reattife.—This com- forting discovery did much to place Bar- ney once more on good germs, with him- self, and by and by he a¥andélied the at- tempt to pose as a stricken victim of wom- an’s inappreciation, andgwas}pnce more the genial host and the welcome guest. As time went on, and his fame continued to spread, he fell more and more under the gentle influence of Lady |Mar¥ Fanshaw, who was a modest, refined and altogether charming girl. She had an unbounded admiration for Barney’s strength and man- liness, and his many deeds of kindness and lavish generosity, which he himself was at no particular pains to conceal, won her deep regard. She did’ not pretend to understand his paintings, but was quite willing to believe what appeared to be the universal estimate, that they were works of the very highest genius. In the company of Lady Mary Barney's heroic determination to lesd a monas:ic life became fainter and fainter. Waen Barney saw whither he was drifting he held a serious consultaiion with himself. Six_months had elapsed since the episode at Eastbourne, and this half year had been the most fateful in his whole existence. Even though there was a lingering disap- pointment over the now self-admitted fact that his life had not been wrecked, -yet he felt he owed it to his dignity not to pro- pose to Lady Mary until a year at least had intervened between the two matri- monial excursions. To propose sooner would be to admit that he did not know his own mind—and he particularly prided himself on his strength of mind. An ac- tion that is indecent haste in six months may be the epitome of calm deliberation in twelve. Instances are on record where a man’s most cherished political convic- tions have changed completely within a year, and a grateful country has testi- fied its appreciation of the honesty of the transformation by bestowing a peerage or a knighthood upon the man. Why, then, should not a great painter be deeply in love with two charming girls, if a reasona- ble interval separated the declarations of affection? Barney said to himself that it was undoubtedly wrong to be in love with two or more at the same time, and he had to admit that in former days he had come dargerously near that complicated condi- tion, but he was young at the tine, and youth is an excuse which covers a multi- tude of errors. “This day six months, said Barney definitely. “I shall ask Lady Mary to be my wife.” Having thus reach- ed finality in his meditations he felt that sense of satisfaction which a man always experiences when a perplexing problem is authoritatively settled one way or another. Nothing is so demoralizing as indecision. Hitherto he had been almost afraid to meet Lady Mary, much as he delighted in her companionship, but now there was no rea- son why he should hold aloof from her. Therefore, having written down the date on which the momentous proposal was to take place he arose with a joyful exuber- ance of spirits and resolved to celebrate his decision by driving down to the pretty Surrey village near which Lady Mary’s father lived. The tandem was a thing of the past. He found that the sight of it brought up pain- ful recoilections of Eastbourne; so he sold it, and acquired a most stylish four-wheeled vehicle, which he called his’ “growler,” drawn by two spirited black! horses. He spoke to his friends apologetically about his growler, and said it gave yg particular scope for a man’s driving powers, but would serve until the coach whieh hé’had ordered from the most noted battiderd! in London was finished. A four-in-Hand.!%e held, was the only thing a mamtould drive with credit to himself and sétisfaktion to all beholders. So with the Black pan dancing before him, held by a firm hand, he rat- tled across Chelsea bridge atd made for the interior of Surrey. 1) ol ot od Chapter XXX It is a pleasant thing $n a beautiful day to drive through Surrey jgneg! with a fine pai@of horses in front anda Uyeried, menial with folded-, arms.@n the: neat © behind. Barney, who knew the country:well, ¢hose the byroads‘rather thar'tHe math thorough- fares, for he had a kee fove of, nature and an appreciation of Jdndscape, as he- came a man who had placed on canvas so many amazing reproductions of natura] scenery. As he neared his destination he turned -in- to the particular lane which he knew to be Lady Mary's favorite walk, and he kept a sharp lookout ahead, hoping to descry the girl in the distance. He also looked at his waich, and slowed the horses when he saw he had arrived at the head of the lane somewhat in advance of the time he had set for himself. Barney was above all things a practical man, and he knew that, outside of the drama, coincidences rarely happened unless they were touched up a bit; so before leaving Chelsea he took the precaution to telegraph Lady Mary, telling her that at a certain hour he would be at the head of the lane, and that if he met there any one who lived in the neighbor- hood who would extend to him a cordial invitation to visit a certain country house, he would accept with all the heartfelt gratitude of a homeless man perambulating the country with two horses and a wagon. It was one of Barney’s habits rarely to write a letter, and to depend almost entire- ly on the telegraph as a means of com- munication with his fellows. He delighted in sending a fricnd a ter- page telegram on some perfectly trivial subject, and to the numerous people all over the country who now wrote to him asking for his autograph he invariably sent it in a long telegram, explaining in the me: sage that, as he never wrote letters, any ignature of his at the end of an epistle was sure to be a forgery, and no auto- graphs were genuine unless they came by wire. Barney's electrical autographs now bring good prices at auction sales. As he entered the lane, then, he looked ahead for fulfillment of the coincidence he had arranggd, and was presently re- warded by seeing the fine figure of the girl coming toward him, an ebony stick in her hand, and three big dogs following her. Barney threw the reins to his man, told him to drive on, and sprang down. The girl's cheeks were as rosy as the dawn, either with the exercise in the pure air or the pleasure of meeting him. After greeting her he cried: “You got my telegram, then?” . » Have you any money left after sending it?” “Oh, I'm in funds today. I sold a pic- ture for a thousand pounds yesterday to a Chicago man. They know how to buy, those western fellows! He took one of the burnt-umber night scenes, made me sign my name on it in scarlet with letters three inches long, and then told me, with a chuckle, after it was done, that he would have given a couple of hundred extra for the signature if I held out. Thus. are we poor artists imposed upon! Still, the scar- let lettering completely Killed the half- tones in the painting, and ruined it, in my opinioh, but he said it was the signature he wanted, so we are sboth, satisfied. He was a perfectly frank’ heatfien; said he r could buy better paintings Bie ecto tor $5 each, with a discount chs if he took a quantity, but that péopl¢ ; over _ there wouldn’t have the work of fative artists at any price. He proudly clajmed to know nothing about art hi fi goods was his line. I said I supposed jhat was all right as long as the goods hypught in the tin, and he replied that t,was what he was after. eens “Well, I’m sure I congratulate you.” “Me? Now, Lady Many, Icall that hard lines. I thought you awerelsa friend of mine—I did, indeed.” st mam “I am. May I not congratiilate you on selling a picture?” a M1 “No, your ladyship; nm, mum! But you might congratulate the Chiieago man. I feel that he did me out -of»@wo hundred. Oh, he’s got a bargain, andvhe knows it! 1 tell you what it is, mtg pictures are get- ting so expensive that I-am beginning to realize it is reckless extravagance for me to have so many of them hanging in my studio. It looks like ostentation, and I hate that. That’s why I took the thousand, merely to get rid of it “Di® it take you long to paint?” “Yes, a good while. Of course, I can’t tell just how'long, for one does not do a masterpiece like that right off the reel, don’t you know. I suppose I must have spent as much as six hours.on it, off and on. You see, you have to wait until. the ground work dries before you can go on With the rest.-I first, ‘with a-big brush, covered the whofe ofthe canvas with burnt umber-and then-let it dry. That's night, as it would appear if there were no lights anywhere. Then you put in your high lights—little dabs of white paint. ‘That seems easy, but I tell you it requires gerius. if. tere. is water, even though n to the general eye, you put in little wabbly lines of gray paint under the dots of high light, and there you are, don't you know. It all seems simple enough te talk about, and plenty of fel- lows are trying it, now I have shown them the way; but somehow they don’t hit it off, don’t you know. But sink the shop in a Surrey lane; I hate talking shop, any- how! Now, am I going to get my invita- tion, or am I not?” “Of course you are. anxious to meet you.” My father is most “That's very nice of him. But, I say, Lady Mary—” The young man stopped suddenly, and the girl looked up at him. She read in his eyes such honest, undisguised admiration of herself that she dropped her own and blushed - still more rosily. “What is it?’ she asked. forgotten something?” “No,” he said, eagerly taking the unre- sisting fingers of her two hands in his, as they stood there. o, | have just remem- bered. I ought to have something to say to your father, don’t you know. We can’t talk about painting, and—well, Mary, we should have some topic of vital interest to us both to discuss, shouldn’t we?” The girl laughed a little, but did not re- ply. The three dogs stood some distance off, regarding the pair with suspicion; and a low growl from one of them indicated that the situation was unusual and must not be carried too far. 5 “What shall I say to him, Mary?” cried the young man with a tender thrill in his deep voice. “May I tell him I care more for his daughter than for any one else in the world? May I?” The girl made no attempt to withdraw her hands, nor did she do more than give him one swift, brief glance. “If it is true,” she murmured, “I see no ‘ason why you should not tell him so.” ‘True,” cried Barney, fervently. ‘There's nothing on earth so true, Mary, my dar- ling, as that I love you. And do you—do, you care in the least for a big, blundering fellow like me?” ae “Always, always,” said Lady Mary. “Ever since I first met you. And long before the world recognized your genius, Barney, I did.” The jubilant young man, suddenly aban- doning the hands that were thus promised him, clasped the girl to him and kissed her. It is a remarkable thing that a man often attains celebrity for doing something that hundreds of others do better, while the world remains ignorant of performances that are really entitled to fame. As Bar- rey threw one arm around Lady Mary's waist he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the big dog spring at his throat. Yet the young man kissed the girl as tenderly and as g2-ntly as if nothing particular were happening on the other side of him; and Lady Mary, closing her eyes for the mo- ment, rested her head against his breast and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. She was awakened from her momentary dream by savage, mouthing growls, and, “Have you Barney in His Growler. remembering the dogs, jumped back in alarm. With rigid muscles Barney held at arm’s length, his strong arm grasping the collar, ‘a brute only slightly smaller than a pony, whose angry fangs were tearing at his coat sleeve. The other two dogs looked en, snarling, but apparently waiting for their mistress to give the word of attack. The girl shrieked at the sight. “Down, Nero, down,” she cried. “How dare you, sir? “Oh, it's all right,” said Barney non- chalantly. ‘Don't scceld him. ‘Tis his na- ture to, don’t you know. He'll find out two things in About a minute; first, and most important, that I’m going to be one of the family; and, second, that he’s met his match. I say, Mary, this wouldn't be a bad scene for the aquarium, don’t you know; Samson defying the lightning, or was it Ajax? I never can remember those class- ical allusions. “Down, sir, here and apologize. Barney relaxed his grasp on the colalr, and the huge dog cringed up to Lady Mary with a most crestfallen air. It was evident that, although he deferred to his mistress’ authority, he was still unshaken in his opinion that such goings on as he had just beheld were entirely out of order, and, al- though he humbly licked the girl’s hand, he cast side looks at Barney that were anything but friendly, yet the truculent glance was mitigated ‘by that respect for proven strength which one strong animal feels when he meets a stronger. ‘The girl, crouching, patted his shaggy coat, and, al- ternately scolding and petting him, ' ex- plained the situation as well as she could, beseeching Nero to treat Barney as a brother. When she stood up again—blessed are the peacemakers!—Barney said: “Let’s see if he understands?” commanded the girl. “Come “Now, Barney,” cried the girl, “‘you must behave yoursel! You can't tell who might come into view any moment.” “We'll risk the chance comer—purely for the dog's benefit, you know, Mary.” The big dog made no move this time, but his angry eye lighted up with a dan- gergus, lurid gleam, and the corners of his heaty lips quivered, showing the teeth. “Oh, it’s a case of pure jealousy,” said Barney. “I can see that. Nero and I never can be friends.” They walked together slowly along the lene, the dogs in front. Nero seemed ex- ceedingly dejected, and strode with of- fended dignity, taking little notice of the other two dogs, who, with a levity that met his sullen disapproval, indicated now and then by deep, low growls of rebuke, futility chased imaginary rabbits by the hedge rows, tumbling over each other in their frivolous, headlong career. “Do you know, Mary, I think we should jcint hands and swing our arms as we walk along. I want to shout and whoop like a red Indian—and yet calm reflection tells’ me it isn’t good form. I believe I'm hopelessly plebelan, and yearn for a White- chapel expression of my happiness. If I weren't afraid of the dog—that 1s, morally afraid, for I can throttle him physically— I'd puil the pin out of that most fetching hat of yours, and put the hat on my own head, giving you mine. ‘tually, I'd like to dance, don’t you know The girl laughed. a shouldn’t mind a dance myself,” she said. “Oh, then, it’s all right! I was beginning to fear I had a costermonger for my an- cestor, but, if you’re not shocked, I may for all I know he descended from the Con- qveror.” “Well, if you want to shout, do it now, for I want you to be very circumspect and proper when we walk up the avenue. Barney did not shout, but he placed his arm around her, and—and felt it was most delightful to be thus takeri in charge and told how to behave. (fo be continued.) —_->——_ Quite Evident. From the Chicago Post. ° It was fifteen or twenty minutes after’ the tiff. He was willing to leave it all in the dim, shadowy past, but it was evident’ she was not. “Here is an account of a woman who in- sisted upon burying her pet dog beside her deceased husband,” he said, looking up from his paper. =: “Bhe couldn't have thought very much of the dog,” she returned in a cold, un- compromising tone. Immediately thereafter he adjourned “sine die,” and algo “sine nocte.” —_re0___. A Scheme. ‘From Puck. Algy—“Suppose you buy stocks, Cholly, and I sell them at the same time,” Cholly—“Aw—yes?” Algy—“One of us would make money, and we could divide the “the old house as it now is, but ART AND ARTISTS. The bronze doors which Frederick Mac- Monnies has designed for the central door- way of the west main entrance reached the new Congressional Library some little time ago, and workmen have been busy prepar- ing to put them in place. easy task, as the casting was rather poor- ly done, and the doors have required a good deal of tinkering. Since their arrival the different parts have been reposing in the basement, and the curious visitors who have penetrated that part of the building have seen the doorway in a rather di Jointed condition. The subject of the scull turéd decoration is Printing, and the lu- nette, which is to face toward the interior of the building, bears on a shield the | words “Homage to Guttenberg.” On the other side of this lunette ts a design in low relief, containing in the center the seated figure of Minerva holding a book in her lap. On either side of this figure is a cherub bearing a huge pile of books upon his shoulder. The cpen spaces of the com- position are filled with a small printing press of the earliest type, an owl, the lamp of learning and other objects which still further elucidate the legend which it bears, “Ars Typographica.” Beneath this semi- circular design are the doors themselves, each ornamented with a long vertical panel, containing a stiff female tigure grasjing a torch. One of these figures bears the title “Intellectus,” and the other, which is similar to the first In appearance, is called “Humanitas.” The after-dinner Task of dish washing loses its terrors, ‘and all household cleaning is ac- complished quickly and easily by the use of Largest package—greatest economy. THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, * * x Those among the local artists who plan to send pictures to the exhibit of the So- ciety of American Artists and the Spring Academy should bear mind that can- vases must be sent to New York in a very short time. Pictures for the academy will be received from March 11 to 13, inclustve. The exhibit will be thrown open to the pub- Me on April 5, and will close on May 15. Canvases sent to the society will be re- ceived on the 15th and 16th of March, and the exhibition will be open to the public from March 28 to May 1. The work of Washington artists cannot be said to have ever played a very important part in either of these exhibitions, but if few painters | Chicago, St. Louis, New York, have sent canvases the individual contribu- Boston, Philadelphia. tions have usually been able to hold their own among the best. It is to be hoped that | = S se this year more artists will contribute, as Washington ought to be well represented in these exhibitions, which are perhaps the most important annual art events in the United States. motives, in which he wisnes to make at- mospheric and sentiment pre-eminent rather than technique. This may be counted as a new departare for him. as it has always been his custom to give a good ee deal of consideration to style and tech= There is a very fresh, breezy quality in | ™!2¥¢- < the marine which Mr. Frank Moss has now * upon his easel. The leaden color of the Miss Sewail is the only Washingtonian threatening sky promises storm, and the who is represented by decorative work at Waves break with ever-increasing force on the exhibit of the New York Architectural the smooth, hard beach. The sketch for| League, which is now open, bu: in the this picture was made on the Maine coast, | more technical part of the exhibit there where the artist has spent many summers. | are three drawings contributed by Mr. Mr. Moss has been working up a !and-|Gienn Brown, the archit One of the scape, the motive for which was obtained :. a = aha “3 by H. 2 ae tenes in the same region. The barberry bushes | 8) the zebu house a 2 estny “es bank give a picturesque c.cment to the | nature of Glenn M. Brown. The two lat- scene, and the painting is extremely pleas-|ter ones are in water color, and are ex= ing in tone. He has also been busy with a study showing the continenta! troops com- ing through Philadelphia on their way to Valley Forge. The soldiers are a sorry-look- ing band, but beneath their tattered coats tremely effective * ~* Several new paintings by Mr. R. LeGrand beat brave, resolute hearie, and, in order |J0PPSton have been hung upon the walls to make a’ more gallant appearance ‘they | Of Veerhoff's gallery, and there is none have twined green brauches and vines | better than the strongly painted cattle about the barrels of their muskets. picture, showing three cows in an open Peo pasture. Another interesting canvas is a Miss D. B. King has been at work build- | Stable interior, and the contras: between ing up a group, which she calls “The Chil- | the dark stable and the sunmy la dren's Hour.” "There are six figures in the | S¢e” through the doorway is wer group, the largest Seing only a little ever | Prought out. The doorway is partly < a foot in height. Ia the centor fs the seated | UP. and several sheap are looking wist- figure of a woman, and her little oncs are | UY through the ralls out gathered about her. Miss hing is especially | STe*n fields beyond. One of successful pleasing landscapes shows a stony pasture in modeling children, and this piece of sculpture gives her splendid cppor- | 2¢a? Wggtmoreland, N. iL. tunities to exercise aer talent in that direc- ona tion. The group is very well balanced, 2p- . : . pearing to good advantage from any point | The Washington Water Color Clu» has of view, and she plans to sen] ft tc the ex- | decided to inold its annual mectings in hibition of the Society of Washington Art-| March instead of November. ‘The officers ists, When this piece of work is off her] who are to serve during the ensuing year rae SOS rel commence molteling her] 1m be elected at the meeting, which is to be held at 4:30 this afternoon in Professor Andrews’ studio, and a full attendance ig desired. statue of Jeptha and his daughter. * * * Mr. George Gibbs lately finished sev- eral inauguration scenes for an illustrated weekly. One of tnese is a very large draw- ing showing the President's reviewing stand while the parade was passing, and Mr. Gibbs has been quite successful in giving a spirited swing to the moving soldiers. The whole scene is full of action, and the draw- ing is treated in a broad, effective way. In a square space in one corner of this same composition is a larger portrait of the Pres- ident as he appeared reviewing the troops, * = * Mr. Albert D. Gihon, son of Medical Di- rector Gihon of the United States navy, and a former resident of this city, has attaine considerable prominence as a rising Tnud- scape painter. Mr. Gthon was the pupil of Benjamin Constant, Jean Laurens and oth- er equally celebrated French artists, and has for many years been following his pr fession abro: He ts row on a visit , making arrangements to c> to and another drawing shows him riding 5 of students of both sexcs to down the avenue in his carriage. Mr. Gibbs aummer Sor landscape paint- has now resumed work upon a gouache drawing, which is In some sense a sequel a to his inauguration studies, a3 it de: he] MAKING LINCOLN PRESENTABI office-seeker in search of a governmental sinecure. The scene is laid in the marble room in the Senate wing of the Capitol, and the figures are well grouped and carefully stuaid as to gesture and expression. * Mrs. Lincoln “Fixed Up” the Presi- to Meet a Belega In narrating Iraugurated,” in the March Ladies Journal, Stephen Fiske writes Inter of the memorable journey from field, Ill, to the national capital, of Mrs. Lincein’s efforts to have “When Lincoln Was First Home ingly x K Mr. W. H. Chandlee plans to send to the coming exhibition at the Cosmos Club a New York street scene, showing Madison Square on a rainy night. The bluish white band look presentable when receiving a glare of the electric lights 1s contrasted | queeation that was to greet them upon in an interesting way with the ruddy glow | ieaching New. York city behind them, and a line of trees is silhou- | “sphe train stopped.” writes Mr etted sharp! 2 this blaze of light. | wna through the windows immense cr The waiting cabs, Which are lined up 1” | could be seen; the cheering dtowned the distinctly in the surface of the wet street, | blowing off steam of the locomotive. Then He has recently made for the London | Mrs. Lincoln opened her hand bag and Sketch a couple of gouache drawings of | Said os irauguration scenes. Gouache work, while | ‘Abraham, I must fix you up a bit for not exactly a new departure for Mr. Chan- | these city folks” : dlee, is an excursion into what ts for him | “Mr. Lincoln gently lfted her upon the a comparatively untried field, but these | seat before him; she parted, combed and drawings exhibit his usual ready facility | brushed his hair and arranged his black and vivacity of handling. ° necktie. * mother? af- ae OK While Mr. H. B. Bradford devotes him- self most assiduovsly to illustration, he gives some attention to portraiture in black and white. He has lately made sev- “Do I look n fectionately asked. “"Well, you'll do, Abraham,’ replied M Lincoln, ‘critically. So he kissed her and lifted her down from the seat, and turned to meet Mayor Weod, courtly and suave, and to have his hand shaken by the cther now, eral large heads in pencil, and in spite of | New York officials.” the limitations of this medium, has ob- = --see tained some surprisingly good effects. Pen- What He Wanted, cil is so rarely used for any iraportant | From th- Philedelphia Press. work that few people realize the rich | “yell,” said the artist, sharply, to the blacks and the tender half tones that a|tramp who had entered, “what do you skillful draughtsman may command. Mr. | want here? Hurry with what you have to Bradford’s most recent drawing in this | say.” medium is a portrait of Thomas Nelson Page in his study. The author Is seated at | nity, “I did not come here to be insulted. his desk, surrounded with books and pa- |1I merely thought to step in and inquire if pers, and it is quite a characteristic like- |you had any model for your valentine ness. Mr. Bradford has also made a pen | cupids. If not, 1 desire to apply for the jo- sketch of Mr. Page's old nume at Wak- | sition.” lands, Va. In general the drawing shows ue artist has made some restcrations to suit Mr. Page, who wished to have the place ap- pear as it did in his younger days. Mr. | “Have you read Dawson's last book?” Bradford has been engaged upon a number | «1 nope so. of pen drawings for the comic weeklies. ne 2 oe SN A Perfect S N ‘Infant Food N i ‘Sir,” replied the tramp, with inborn dig- eee — At the Authors’ Ch From the Philadelphia Press. public has a chance to see a new picture from his hand, but his work is all the more worth seeing when the opportunity does Present itself. “Work and Leisure,” a painting in oi] which he has recently com- pleted, is now on exhibition at Fischer's. ‘There is but cne figure in the composition, a buxom serving girl, who has left her work for a few minutes and is seated in a chair glancing over a paper. The girl's lied-up sleeves, the wash tub standing near her and the line of drying clothes tell the story simply and directly. Mr. Helmick's pictures alwa§s-tell a story, and even when they portray homely scenes of this char- acter are never trivial. The color in this painting is’ one of the most pleasing fea- tures, and the flesh tints are managed with thoge peculiar pearly tints which the artist uses to such good advantaxe. There is a nice quality also in the white of the ‘ress and apron. Eagle Brand Condensed Nilk x * The Chesapeake has furnished the sub- ject of Mr. Edwin Lamasure’s most recent work, a moonlit view of a long stretch of shore, with many inlets indenting and run- ning back into the marsh. Another new | - water color is a sunset, in which he has used telling color. Mr. Lamasure is now plarning to execuje ® number of liitle ‘UFANT WEALTH 0 FREE. Uasocsael t