Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 203, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 September 1918 — Composite Girl [ARTICLE]

Composite Girl

By LOUISE OLIVER

(Copyright. 1918, NewapaKatherine frowned with displeasure as she turned to the first story in the magazine the postman had just brought The story with her own name at the top in large letters under the title had been illustrated as she had feared by Julian Fletcher, and. Julian Fletcher had managed to spoil the last half dozen or so of her contributions to the National. Other people raved about his work, dnd did not stop to insist Upon the fact, as did the author, that an illustration should stick to the context. When a girl is said to come down a sairway in a queenly gown of velvet and spangles it is maddening to see in the illustration a debonair lass tripping lightly down the steps in a frothy creation of juvenile ruffles and a sash. Also .when one describes a heroine as having raven locks and dark, soulful eyes, it is the veriest heresy to have her reproduced' in a picture with rather fluffy hair of an indiscriminate yellow and eyes of gray with an unmistakable sense of humor that compelled one who gazed to smile back in answering sympathy. Just now the lady represented in the picture was supposed to be a haughty person who prided herself on her knowledge of clothes. Also she was supposed to be alighting from her limousine and drawing back in startled horror as she saw approaching the one person in the world she was trying to avoid. But instead of horrified haughtiness, the artist had sketched in an expression of rather glorified naughtiness. There again was an expression that rather refused to take life seriously. “If,” said Katherine, “that man wants to be a buffoon, how does it come he’s engaged to spoil perfectly serious stories? I’m going to write to the editor and tell him that if he wants any more stuff of mine he’s got to hunt another illustrator.” She looked again into the eyes of the girl who was intended to be soulful. In spite of herself she smiled back. Then happening to look up into her own mirror, she was startled. Her own eyes looking back at her from the glass were the exact counterpart of those on the page. And her hair, wavy and caught back loosely from her face, with its part on one side, was exactly like that of the girl in the picture. Then she caught up another picture, and another, and studied them, long and carefully. Then she took another inventory of herself.

Slowly the bright color mounted to her cheeks, and her breath came hard; The pictures In the magazine were of her, there wasn’t a doubt of it And now it came back to her gradually that she had heard people say they had noticed a resemblance. And the dress in the stairway picture was certainly hers, and the rather youthful knockabout suit of the limousine lady who was supposed to know how to dress, was a replica of her owflß>lue jersey. And the hat! Katherine grew thoughtful. What vengeance could she wreak upon Julian Fletcher, who, evidently knowing her by sight, had had his own little joke at her expense. But alas —even while planning vengeance, the grayblue eyes, like those of the limousine lady, rather lacked ;the hardness essential to real vendetta. She tossed back her head finally, having reached at least a partial de-, cision, that is, in order to settle her account with one artist she must make up the difference she had had with another. Jerry-Page, her erstwhile enemy, would now be essential to the fulfillment of her scheme and she must make up with him right away. Poor Jerry! After all it was too bad the way she had treated him. She never dreamed she’d miss him so much until he had ceased to come. In the old days he had a way of giving three quick knocks and sticking in his head and saying: “Work’s the password. Who goes there?” If she was busy, she’d call out, “Kate.” And he would softly close the door and vanish. But if she called out huskily, “A great big bear!” he would let the rest of himself in, his pockets crackling suspiciously with parcels from the delicatessen across the street. Then Katherine would lay a cloth and they would have lunch together. Sometimes when he had sold a picture and she had sold a story they would go to dinner at a big hotel and toAa theater to celebrate. Lately, however, Katherine had sold so many stories that she needed no longer to live on the same street as the delicatessen. And having sold more stories she worked more, and her answer to Jerry's knock had more and more seldom been “A great big bear.” But then she didn’t have to depend on packages for her meals any more. She had her own maid in neat black and white to announce quietly that dinner was served. Jerry came a few times at her invitation, but he didn’t seem to be himself. Finally he blamed her for not caring for his friendship and they had quarreled after discussing it. But now she needed Jerry and she smiled rather wistfully as she put on her hat and coat for a visit back to the old street She knocked timidly at the studio door, and Jerry himself in his old velvet coat onened it. X

With* his hand on bin heart be executed a most profound bow. “Faith," said he slowly straightening, “it’s a beautiful dream Pm having. I never mean to go to sleep.” She came In smiling. “Well, wake up, Jerry. I don’t want to talk to a somnambulist I’ve come on business, and you’ll have to be very wide awake." “At your service, milady. Won’t you sit down? It isn’t often I have such distinguished company.” She laughed. "Say, Jerry, before I ask you to do something for me I want to tell you Pm sorry for everything. I see things differently now. but it never occurred to me until afterward that you would think my prosperity had gone to my head. I didn’t mean to say those things, Jerry. Forgive me, will you?” “It’s an honor to have a grievance. If forgiving kills the hope of another visit, I’m loath to consent" “Come off your exalted perch, Jerry,” she laughed. “I guess I’m forgiven. Look here, I want you to help me to get even with Julian Fletcher. He’s spoiling everything I write by sketching me into the Illustrations. I can’t imagine his motive.” “Perhaps you are his ideal. Most artists feel they can do better with an ideal. And perhaps you didn’t realize it but you’re a very beautiful ideal so? any artist.” She reddened. “Jerry Page, I believe you are defending him I I don’t see why you should when he’s taken the place you ought to have. He’s the most popular illustrator today, I do believe. And his things can’t be compared with yours. Think of his putting one girl into every picture!” “That’s forgivable. We all do it. We can’t help it. You see, as I said, we get one girl into our head and it’s all up, we can’t spe anything else.” “But he hasn’t got me into his head. I never even saw him.” “Yes, Kate, dear, you did. You’re looking straight at him.” “Jerry!” “Surest thing you know.” “You’re Julian Fletcher?” “Yes.” “But you don’t—you haven’t got me —I mean —” “Yes I have. I’ve got you in my head and my heart all the time. I couldn’t tell you in the old days when all I could afford was an occasional meal. But I love you, . Kate, and I want you. And in all your dear stories I see only you. Now what vengeance will you have?” She considered a minute; then into her gray eyes returned the teasing smile of the stairway girl. “This!” she said, going over to him and offering her mouth for a kiss.