The Dark Star

At first he did not comprehend that poverty barred the way to her; he

urged her to cultivate her talent, bestowed advice concerning the Art

League, boarding houses, studios, ways, means, and ends, until she

felt obliged to tell him how far beyond her means such magic

splendours lay.

He remained silent, sorry for her, thinking also that the chances were

against her having any particular talent, consoling a heart that was

unusually sympathetic and tender with the conclusion that this girl

would be happier here in Brookhollow than scratching around the

purlieus of New York to make both ends meet.

"It's a tough deal," he remarked abruptly. "--I mean this art stuff.

You work like the dickens and kick your heels in ante-rooms. If they

take your stuff they send you back to alter it or redraw it. I don't

know how anybody makes a living at it--in the beginning."

"Don't you?"

"I? No." He reddened; but she could not notice it in the moonlight.

"No," he repeated; "I have an allowance from my father. I'm new at it

yet."

"Couldn't a man--a girl--support herself by drawing pictures for

magazines?" she inquired tremulously.

"Oh, well, of course there are some who have arrived--and they manage

to get on. Some even make wads, you know."

"W-wads?" she repeated, mystified.

"I mean a lot of money. There's that girl on the Star, Jean

Throssel, who makes all kinds of wealth, they say, out of her spidery,

filmy girls in ringlets and cheesecloth dinner gowns."

"Oh!"

"Yes, Jean Throssel, and that Waythorne girl, Belinda Waythorne, you

know--does all that stuff for The Looking Glass--futurist graft, no

mouths on her people--she makes hers, I understand."

It was rather difficult for Rue to follow him amid the vernacular

mazes.

"Then, of course," he continued, "men like Alexander Fairless and

Philip Lightwood who imitates him, make fortunes out of their drawing.

I could name a dozen, perhaps. But the rest--hard sledding, Miss

Carew!"

"Is it very hard?"

"Well, I don't know what on earth I'd do if dad didn't back me as his

fancy."

"A father ought to, if he can afford it."

"Oh, I'll pay my way some day. It's in me. I feel it; I know it. I'll

make plenty of money," he assured her confidently.

"I'm sure you will."

"Thank you," he smiled. "My friends tell me I've got it in me. I have

one friend in particular--the Princess Mistchenka--who has all kinds

of confidence in my future. When I'm blue she bolsters me up. She's

quite wonderful. I owe her a lot for asking me to her Sunday nights

and for giving me her friendship."