Literary Love-Letters and Other Stories

a prominent artist "who happens to know something," to take him into his crowded classes for a year. He began with true grit to learn again what he had forgotten and some things tha

h Miss Marston's aid, wrung the utmost of existence out of the few dollars he had left. Miss Marston's modest house was patronized by elderly single ladies. It was situated on one of those uninteresting East Side str

nt of her devotion, but he worked grimly, doggedly, with a steadiness that he had never before known. Once, early in the first winter, having to return to Boston on some slight business, he permitted himself to be entrapped by old friends and lazed away a fortnight. On his return Miss Marston noticed with a pang that this outing had done him good; that he seemed to have more spirit, more vivaciousness, more ideas, and more zest for his work. So, in a methodical fashion, she thought out harmless dissipations for him. She induced him to take her to the opera, even allowing him to think that it was done from pure charity to her. Sunday walks in the picture

you persist in using

g," she repli

expect to get

line in your biography. But seriously, Jack, don't you know women well e

ch you can't tell, how do you enjoy

ay, because you make me feel things I shouldn't otherwise. I suppos

common aim. They had not separated a day since that first visit to Boston. The summer had been spent at a cheap boarding-house on Cape Ann, in o

ictures. He eked out his capital and went on. The end of his thousand came; he took to feeding himself in his rooms. He sold h

something," remar

dy is worth a hundred. Stevens will give that for it, which would cover the room-rent

s, moreover, were small, for the character of her boarders had fallen. Unpleasant rumors had deprived her of the unexceptionable set of middle-aged ladies with

that he did not notice the gradual change. It was a grim fight! The elements were relentless; day by day the pounding was harder, and the end of his resistance seemed nearer. Although he was deeply disc

never did, nor work of mine. You don't know good from bad, anyway, and we may both be crazy." He b

nd it a little lo

?" he ask

rmured, "thou hast a soul." And he kissed her gently, as in momentary love. She did

stores. She brought him back twenty-five dollars, and he did not

spree on the first money I e

rs at this sign of human

he one successful artist Clayton knew, and through his influence she succeeded in selling a number of pictures and placed others upon sale. She was so happy, so sure that the prophetic instinct in her soul was justified, that she told Clayton of her previous fraud. He listened carefully; his fa

r once or twice, and then she push

ized. Only I wish it had been something more than money you had

huge, and possibly productive polypus. I am honest enough, anyway, not to fool with lo

people who talk like that, and I don't reproach you. But don't deceive yourself. You feel a little moved just now. If I had any charms, like a pretty model, you might acquire some kind of attachment for me, but love-you never dreamed of it. And," she conti

, and from care. Clayton pulled back the heavy curtain to admit the morning light, for they had talked for hours before comi

curse Him?" m

hy

to love, and made you lonel

hasn't come. It's