A Service of Love爱的牺牲
When one loves one's Art no rvice ems too hard.
That is our premi. This story shall draw a conclusion from it, and show at the same time that the premi is incorrect. That will be a new thing in logic, and a feat in story-telling somewhat older than the great wall of China.
Joe Larrabee came out of the post-oak flats of the Middle West pulsing with a genius for pictorial art. At six he drew a picture of the town pump with a prominent citizen passing it hastily. This effort was framed and hung in the drug store window by the side of the ear of corn with an uneven number of rows. At twenty he left for New York with a flowing necktie and a capital tied up somewhat clor.
Delia Caruthers did things in six octaves so promisingly in a pine- tree village in the South that her relatives chipped in enough in her chip hat for her to go "North" and "finish." They could not e her f--, but that is our story.
儿童能吃阿胶糕吗
Joe and Delia met in an atelier where a number of art and music students had gathered to discuss chiaroscuro, Wagner, music, Rembrandt's works, pictures, Waldteufel, wall paper, Chopin and Oolong.
Joe and Delia became enamoured one of the other, or each of the other, as you plea, and in a short time were married--for (e above), when one loves one's Art no rvice ems too hard.
高德地图怎么用
Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee began houkeeping in a flat. It was a lonesome flat--something like the A sharp way down at the left-hand end of the keyboard. And they were happy; for they had their Art, and they had each other. And my advice to the rich young man would be--ll all thou hast, and give it to the poor--janitor for the privilege of living in a flat with your Art and your Delia.
Flat-dwellers shall indor my dictum that theirs is the only true happiness. If a home is happy it cannot fit too clo--let the dresr collap and become a billiard table; let the mantel turn to a rowing machine, the escritoire to a spare bedchamber, the washstand to
an upright piano; let the four walls come together, if they will, so you and your Delia are between. But if home be the other kind, let it be wide and long--enter you at the Golden Gate, hang your hat on Hatteras, your cape on Cape Horn and go out by the Labrador.
Joe was painting in the class of the great Magister--you know his fame. His fees are high; his lessons are light--his high-lights have brought him renown. Delia was studying under Ronstock--you know his repute as a disturber of the piano keys.著名的英语怎么说
They were mighty happy as long as their money lasted. So is every-- but I will not be cynical. Their aims were very clear and defined. Joe was to become capable very soon of turning out pictures that old gentlemen with thin side-whiskers and thick pocketbooks would sandbag one another in his studio for the privilege of buying. Delia was to become familiar and then contemptuous with Music, so that when she saw the orchestra ats and boxes unsold she could have sore throat and lobster in a private dining-room and refu to go on the stage.
But the best, in my opinion, was the home life in the little flat-- the ardent, voluble chats af
ter the day's study; the cozy dinners and fresh, light breakfasts; the interchange of ambitions--ambitions interwoven each with the other's or el inconsiderable--the mutual help and inspiration; and--overlook my artlessness--stuffed olives and chee sandwiches at 内事
But after a while Art flagged. It sometimes does, even if some switchman doesn't flag it. Everything going out and nothing coming in, as the vulgarians say. Money was lacking to pay Mr. Magister and Herr Ronstock their prices. When one loves one's Art no rvice ems too hard. So, Delia said she must give music lessons to keep the chafing dish bubbling.
For two or three days she went out canvassing for pupils. One evening she came home elated.
"Joe, dear," she said, gleefully, "I've a pupil. And, oh, the loveliest people! General--General A. B. Pinkney's daughter--on Seventy-first street. Such a splendid hou, Joe--you ought to e the front door! Byzantine I think you would call it. And inside! Oh, Joe, I
never saw anything like it before.
"My pupil is his daughter Clementina. I dearly love her already. She's a delicate thing-dress always in white; and the sweetest, simplest manners! Only eighteen years old. I'm to give three lessons a week; and, just think, Joe! $5 a lesson. I don't mind it a bit; for when I get two or three more pupils I can resume my lessons with Herr Ronstock. Now, smooth out that wrinkle between your brows, dear, and let's have a nice supper."
"That's all right for you, Dele," said Joe, attacking a can of peas with a carving knife and a hatchet, "but how about me? Do you think I'm going to let you hustle for wages while I philander in the regions of high art? Not by the bones of Benvenuto Cellini! I guess I can ll papers or lay cobblestones, and bring in a dollar or two."
Delia came and hung about his neck.
"Joe, dear, you are silly. You must keep on at your studies. It is not as if I had quit my music and gone to work at something el. While I teach I learn. I am always with my mu
sic. And we can live as happily as millionaires on $15 a week. You mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magister."读儿歌
授权委托书"All right," said Joe, reaching for the blue scalloped vegetable dish. "But I hate for you to be giving lessons. It isn't Art. But you're a trump and a dear to do it."
