Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 54, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 March 1920 — SYMPATHY [ARTICLE]

SYMPATHY

By R. RAY BAKER

• by McCtar* Nawwpaper ayadjcal*.) Alphonse MacGregor Smith was a Queer mortal. Although his combination of French. Scotch and plain American names was part of his queerness, that was not what worried the young men and women of the social set of which he was a member. The thing that made them look askance at Alphonse was his ambition. He wanted to do something In the world, and, of course, such an Idea was all nonsense, because Alphonse's father could write a check In one figure and six ciphers if he wanted to. Although the idea that he should work grew on Alphonse, he began keeping his own counsel in the matter, for whenever he had mentioned a job the young men of his acquaintance had always sneered and the young ladies had laughed outright and told him be was a good joker. One of these girls played a big part in Alphonse's visions of the future. Her name was Clara Lennox and her family was quite as well fixed financially as the Smiths. Although he had never broached the subject to her, it was pretty well understood that some day a matrimonial partnership would ensue from their associations. Their parents encouraged this idea, for it was considered a good match. And yet Clara would not sympathize with Alphonse’s ambition. “If you want to work,” she contended, “why don’t you get a position as manager in one of your father’s factories? If you feel that you ought to gratify your whim, pick out something soft, and if you fall you won’t land so hard." This might have been practical advice, but what Alphonse wanted was to climb the success ladder with his own ability and not an Influential father as his support Now, Alphonse had a secret He nourished a conviction that he could paint pictures. For years he had practiced It on the sly, and an old artist with whom he had a clandestine acquaintance told him he was a naturalborn painter. All he needs was the proper environment said this authority, and the urge of necessity and he was bound to make good. In talking of a job Alphonse never had dared broach the subject of art for fear It would land him in an asylum for the insane.

Finally he could stand it no longer. He told his parents he needed a change of atmosphere. His father offered him a trip West, but Alphonse said it was a different kind of atmosphere be desired. “Give me S2OO and three months and don’t try to find me. Til write to you,” he said. To his friends he offered various excuses, and then took himself to a quarter of the eity where artists and authors held sway. He rented a studio, bought what equipment he did not already have and went to work. During his first month with art he hired a number of different professional models and painted several pictures which he placed on sale at stores devoted to the products of the easel, but none of them sold. He knew there was something lacking in his pictu res, but there was no one to tell him what it was. At the beginning of his wrestle with work Alphonse tried to find his old artist friend, but the latter was abroad, although he was expected home soon. At the end of his first month of unsuccessful effort he went once more in quest of the artist The little bouse he had occupied in the colony showed signs of life this time, and a rather diminutive, young girl with curly yellow hair, deep, serious pools of blue eyes and an olive complexion answered his knock. '

“Mr. Smith?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Yes, I’ve heard of you—from father. But father—father died a month ago in Italy.” Alphonse expressed his sympathy and started away. She called: "Perhaps I could help you, if it’s something about painting. Father used to say I was his best critic. Pll be frank and tell you I’m out of funds. If you need a model—•* Alphonse liked the suggestion, but he was low on funds himself. He could get more from home, but he had resolved to go it alone. He explained that he was meeting no sue-* cess whatever, and that he was in no position to offer the girl much remuneration, but she said she was willing to risk. lt and agreed to go to his studio the next morning. On his way back to his workshop, his mind occupied with thoughts of his new acquaintance, he stopped in a 4 store which had his goods on display. To his surprise none of his pictures -were in sight . “I sold every one of them and can get rid of more,"’ cried the storekeeper, rubbing his hands. “You have a thousand dollars coming and I’ll hand It to you now.” Filled with elation. Alphonse hurried on his way, and In the studio he wrapped up two pictures he had finished the day before. With these under an arm he started back to the store. At the comer he paused, for he had seen a familiar figure enter the establishment It was Clara Lennox, and Alphonse understood, . aiovrty he retraced his Bteps,eat«rtfi the studio

and dumped the two pictures In a corner. “It’s fine of Clara!” he said. "She's trying to help me, but she doesn’t understand. It’s like pampering a spoiled child. Hl take no more pictures to that store, and TH not use a cent of the thousand. I want to make good on merit." ; , - The next morning the new model appeared, and then and there Alphonse started on a career of hard work that exceeded his most ambitious dreams. The model became the boss. When he suggested a pose she took matters into her own bands and improved ft. ———— o . “Don’t put all the color on the robes,” was the way she went on. “Make them harmonize with the surroundings. That line is too straight; It doesn't look natural. Take out some of the contrast like this,” and she took the brush from him and demonstrated. Thus things continued for a month, and Alphonse's funds became exhausted. Nevertheless the girl did not desert him. He pawned various articles and she Insisted on adding some rings to the collection. So she labored with him and shared his frugal repasts in the studio, while every evening he walked home with hw. All this time hewoftef~on one picture, and when it finally was finished her verdict was: “It will be a success. I will get it on exhibition In the library display next week. My father’s name will help.” A week passed. Alphonse was working on a new picture and bls model had gone to the library to see how the picture was “taking.” He sat and smoked and thought—just thought A rap on the door interrupted his cogitations, and when he opened it Clara Lennox stepped in. “Have you had enough of It?” she Inquired, and her lip curled as she surveyed his surroundings. “Ara you ready to give up?”

“No.” he replied. ‘Tm just getting started. I’m going to be a success.” “Very well.” She shrugged her shoulders. ’Tve done what I can. But If you Insist on remaining In this hole, let it be understood that it’s all over with us. It’s a matter of choice between your art” —she gave the word unnecessary emphasis—“and me.” The door was pushed open and a radiant face, framed with yellow curls, peeped In. Clara took the roll of bills from Alphonse and stalked majestically to the door. “I understand,” she said coldly and significantly, and was gone. The little model looked after her and her eyes snapped. Then she turned to Alphonse. “You win!” she exclaimed. “ ‘The Girl of the Sands’ takes the prize. It brought $2,000 —from old Jacob Geerllng, the famous art collector.” She seated herself on a three-legged stool and sighed. _4..j want to seemlhqulsitive," she said, “but is that the girl you’re going to marry?" _ Alphonse went to her and with, an arm around her drew her head to his breast. “No,” he told her. “The girl I am going to marry is right here in this room now. That is, I’m going to marry her, if she—”