The Photo-Play Journal (May 1916-Apr 1917)

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THti PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL POR AUGUST, 1916. PAGP 5 IB I IBIIIIIlll ■■■III.; 'JIM;! I!! HfiliillilliHiJiEJllllilHlHi ■III THE DEVIL'S NEEDLE By STEVE TALBOT illllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll Ml:: ::lii:ll: : llkllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll UST meat — such as hangs in the butcher shops — all of you!" he exclaimed disgustedly, glaring at the dozen models huddled together in a corner of the studio. "Not one capable of an expression or a posture worthy of reproduction in chalk upon a barn door. Out, please, and thank you !" David White turned wearily to his unfinished canvas as Fritz held the door and the girls trouped into the hallway, glad to escape the temperamental artist who had tried each in turn and chosen none. Some loitered to stare with a pitiful attempt at disdain at the two girls who remained. The dark-haired Rene had only earnest sympathy for them, which she indicated by her matter-of-fact nods of farewell. She was a model, too, and knew the tragedy of days of rejections going the rounds of the studios. But she had been a fixture in White's workshop for some time now, and had no worries but for others' misfortunes. Of such she was decidedly tender, but wholehearted devotion she only lavished upon her artist employer. The other was a visitor, a friend of David's. She knew nothing of the trials of either models or artist. The studio atmosphere entranced her and she found much of interest in the strangeness there. Her sympathies were all with the man, however, and as he stood before his work, perplexed, she moved about the room arranging a picture here, a rug or vase there, and finally dropped into the chair, under the light which shone upon the model stand. "If you were only obliged to work for a living!" the artist exclaimed, looking up at the girl curiously. "Just the type I need and can't get from the ranks — so it seems." "One may work without being obliged to," she replied. Rene noted David's interest with increasing uneasiness as she prepared to leave for her midday meal. "Would you, Miss Mortimer?" he queried with growing enthusiasm. "You are the one touch I need to finish this group, and with a little patience could pose without discomfort." "You have only to show me and I'll do my very best," replied the girl ; and as Rene nodded her exit with hat in hand, White began instructions in joyous mood, shared by his willing but inexperienced model. David White was quite famous in bis chosen field. A recent exhibition had "hung" a painting of his which created a furore among the critics. The public, too, had seen fit to be impressed by it. With his model, Rene, he, however, con • tinned work upon other pictures, and paid little attention to the admiring clamor. Rene was a child of poverty, whose character had been stifled in sordid environment until studio work one day came her way, and at David's urging she had adopted it unquestioningly. Besides her beauty she had a heart which was easily moved by the sorrows of others, and this lent her a talent for the expression of sympathy and kindred emotions which the artist found invaluable in her. These qualities endeared her to David as time went on, and so reacted upon the girl that she loved him with all the impetuosity of her susceptible and untrained nature. He was her idol and she gave all, asking nothing. He reciprocated in a mild way that satisfied, and they had been intensely happy in their work and affections. Rene was uneasy of late. Usually Fritz, the studio janitor, went for food and the necessary accompaniments after the models were inspected in the morning, and she with David lunched in the studio. On this morning the presence of Miss Mortimer seemed to absorb the artist to the exclusion of thoughts of his material requirements, so Rene sadly effaced herself and for one of so sunny a nature, might have been said to brood almost over her restaurant repast, which she did not enjoy in solitude. Absorbed in his work, which took on fresh flavor with the discovery of Wynne's fitness, White plied his brushes rapidly. The girl watched him in a sort of fascination not unmingled with awe. Her training had been strictly along conventional lines, and the world of emotion she had but lightly touched. Her father, William Mortimer, was a wealthy business man, with but little patience for things or people outside the world of commerce. He had striven to inculcate Wynne with the commercial instinct, and although too fond of her to consciously cause her suffering, he had no intention of permitting her to act contrary to his set plans or wishes at any time. When his partner, a much younger man, told him one day that Wynne had promised to marry him, the father was much elated. Hugh Gordon was a man after his own heart, and Mortimer's commercial instincts leaped at the prospect of his daughter and his junior partner united for life. It was with her father and fiance that the girl had first met White. Introductions followed an afternoon spent at the art exhibition, where the young artist's painting had been viewed by society, and her visit to the studio followed at his conventional invitation, which he little thought she would accept. Neither did her father or escort imagine she would ever see more of "Bohemia" than that little displayed under their chaperonage. Her sudden visit to the studio she could not have explained satisfactorily herself. But latent in every woman is the yearning for wild, passionate romance. It is to flare up always in the first flush of girlhood, and usually flickers out when bent by the humdrum breezes of everyday life. Wynne was quite sincere in her conventional love for Gordon, and had no thought of another future than that mapped out by circumstance, which made him her father's partner and her fiance, until the encounter with David White. Her girlhood dreams were not slow to flame up under his admiring glances, and his invitation to visit him and witness the completion of a masterpiece, changed the entire course of her life, although she hardly realized anything of its import then. "Where is Miss Mortimer?" asked Gordon of her maid, as he entered the Mortimer home on this morning. "At David White's studio until noon, was the word she left." And the maid wondered if she had been discreet as she noticed the haste in which the young man made his exit. Slightly shocked at the knowledge imparted, Gordon had no serious intentions of staging a scene until he entered the studio and found Wynne posing for the artist alone, and with an expression on her face as she watched him which he, her accepted lover, had never been able to conjure up. "My dear!" ejaculated the intruder, "you are not quite alone, are you?" His sarcastic emphasis brought color to the girl's cheeks and roused David's ire slightly, so that he turned his attention from the canvas and studied his visitor intently. Rene attempted to cheer him