Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 February 1905 — Gatwick’s Photography [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Gatwick’s Photography

By HARRIET [?]CKSON

“I beg your pardon,” said Gatwick politely. Miss Willard raised her voice. ‘‘l asked you,” she shouted, “how much money you make a day!” “It depends on the day,” answered Jack Gatwlck rather shortly. Miss Willard flushed. “I beg youi pardon,” she said In turn. “I did not realize how rude my question sounded.” “It’s all right,” said Gatwlck affably “You see, I thought you might be the tax collector, and \Wth tax collectors It’s best to be noncommittal.” Jessie Willard laughed merrily. “You see, It’s this way,” she explained “I must leave this delightful place tomorrow and go to a horrid fashionable resort, where you have to dress up all the while. I have picked out a lot of nice nooks here, and I want to be photographed in them as a souvenir. Now, it will take all day, but there won’t be many pictures, and I don’t want to ask you to lose mouey bj wasting a whole lot of time.” “Time Is money,” quoted Gatwlck, “but sometimes it Isn’t very much money. Shall we say $3 a day and found?” “That’s awfully cheap,” she agreed, “and I’m glad I found you.” “Then,” he countered, “I shall be well found. Found, you know, means feed for man and brute.” She waved a hand toward the big red barn. “Put the w T ogan there,” she commanded, “and turn the horse out In the pasture. He looks as though he would enjoy a day off.” “I only paid eighteen for him,” apologized Gatwlck. “You should have seen him when I got him. You know, Itinerant photographers are not able to hire blooded stock to haul abandoned grocery wagons about the country.” She looked suggestively toward the barn. It occurred to her that this traveling photographer was growing familiar on short acquaintance. Gat-

wick took the hint and started the bony beast Twenty minutes later he again approached his employer. She rose to her feet. “Come on,” she said shortly, and they started across the road and over the meadow beyond. She felt a little sorry that she had checked Gatwlck’s jokes, but he soon recovered his self possession, and again they were chatting as old friends. Then began a day that will live In Gatwlck’s memory. Miss Willard was a most admirable subject, anil they went from nook to nook, where she unconsciously fell into the most admirable poses. Almost before he knew It he had exhausted the dozen plates with which he had started out, and a lopg trip across the fields was necessary to obtain a fresh supply. They got to the house about dinner time and had their meal there, though Miss Willard Insisted that this last day she must have a picnic lunch even If It were only for 5 o’clock tea. When they set forth again in addition to the camera Gatwick carried a heavy basket, and be was glad enough when at last Miss Willard decided that she had been photographed in every favorite resort and suggested that be make a fire and boll the water for tea. By this time they were on thoroughly good terms. She had fonnd that his easy pleasantry did not lapse Into familiarity, and she was less quick to check bis remarks, at the same time mentally deciding that traveling photographers were not only brighter, but handsomer, than the young men who formed the masculine element of the circle in which she moved. An hour later she watched him drive down the dusty country road, and then, with a sigh, she turned Indoors and began her packing, for she left on the late night train. And that night Gatwick, bending over the tray In the improvised dark room formed by the traveling wagon, saw ; with delight the same dainty figure flash forth from plate after plate and realized that it was some of the best work he had ever done. He was regarded as one of the best amateurs in the Camera club, and when he had broken down from overwork Just at a time when he was about to finish the book that was to make him

famous he put his knowledge of tb« art to practical use by faring forth into the country. The fresh air had doue wonders foi him, and, as he wirote his chum, be wag improving almost as much as the sick city horse. He was finishing off the book, too, and in the meantime he was making enough money photographing the country folk, their homes and horses to pay his way and a little more. In the full Gatwick’s novel made the expected hit, and It was recognized as one of the “six best sellers” and the “ten best novels.” Early In the spring there came out , another book, following up the first success. This was a vacation romance, fairly redolent of green fields and spicy woods. It far exceeded the hit of the first volume. A few weeks later Jessie Willard received a special copy in an elaborate binding. In place of the half tone illustrations of the original edition were Inserted carbon prints of the pictures Jack Gatwick had taken on their first day in the fields. With it went a note. “Dear Miss Willard,” it ran, “I beg that you will accept this little volume, of which you are Hie real inspiration. And if with it you will accept the author you will make him as nappy as he was that day when" he was merely the ‘hired’ man and you were the ‘boss.’ He has been your servant and your slave since then, and now that be has something more than himself to offer he humbly lays all at your feet, praying that you will be as gracious in town as jVu were in the country.” For three days Gatwick haunted the hallway that he might be at hand when the postman came. At last a dainty letter! “Dear,” he read, “why did you wait so long? Why did you not come when you had only yourself to offer, for since that happy day It was you that I needed most. You were cruel to keep me waiting so long, and in return I shall exact constant attendance.” Jessie Gatwick guards her husband’s health carefully, because, she says, it is dangerous to let him take to the road with ‘ A camera now that he has married his first victim.

"THAT’S AWFULLY CHEAP,” SHE AGREED, “AND I’M GLAD I FOUND YOU.”