The Pavement Artist.

Evening Post, Volume LXX, Issue 61, 9 September 1905, Page 10

The Pavement Artist.

Everything in London happens at the street-corner. 'It is there that the applewoman has her stall, there 'that the milkman deposits 'his cans; it is there that ihft harmless nece«>aTy cab will be found, and there that street arabs make their depredations and escape horn the pursuer. Everything, including tho publichouse, is rQilnd the corner, and to this rule .there is no exception. The coiner house naturally has a character of its own. There is .ho front to it, it can hardly be said to hnvo a front door, and the question of where it keeps its back yard is and must remain a problem. In many cases the corner house leads i double existence, one side^o? it looming largo in respectable circles, gardens, squares, or -what not, the other side of it taking part in the workaday world of irregular houses, 6hops, and, as we hay* said, a public-house. It is quit© open to us to believe that the inhabitants of 4lhe corner house lead a moro variegated existence than their brothers of .the middle square or gardens. Their condition of facing-both-ways enables .them to hold up thsir heads proudly with the square folk, and yet remain in touch with the ordinary world of Tound th© corner. It was from just such a house that tho following episode was observed :—: — A little way down the side-street stood a hoarding. No one knew whab it hoarded; -it looked as if it had always been there and w.ib likely always to "emam. The pavement in front of it was given up to the pavement artist, and on the stones, on a bit of old carpet, was deposited each morning the strange being wfio made 'his living ,by the pictures he had no hand in painting. He was like an "old decrepit spider preying on another spiders industry, if sucli things are done in the insect world. He was a long, lean, cadaverous man with .a horrible air of deceased Tespectability about him. His Ancient black coat might once have been a frock coat, and though it was jiow green witih age and exposure it showed signs of care even yet. The buttons were all on it still, and a v few patches 'had been deftly sawn in. The poor fellow was ill — apparently very ill — with a distressing cough that seemed to make his very bones -attle. He sat upon his bit of^ carpet, leaning 'his hand against the hoarding, and seemed quits insensible to all that weht oh, holding out Ihis hand only from time to time to the passers-by, and shaking a little tin box. The "Freedom of the 'Street" 'commonly confers a. certain gaiety and lightheartednees upon Wie Brotherhood, but of this he had no trace. A further ncquaintatice proved 'him to be absolutely sodden, with drink-— lo such an extent, indeed, that 'he seemed 'hardly alive except under the stimulus of his favour-* ite spirit. The pavement pictures were somewhat out hi the way. There were landscapes, genre pictures, portraits, and mottoes; fhey had almost rt sugg-astioh of the schools, a reminisoence of something one had, seen somewhere or another ; the por.trait6 and mottoes, too, were Unusual, and seemed to show an acquaintance with riewspapeTß and ths actual world. Early one bsautiful spring morning, when even the London air smelt fresh and pure, we looked from the corner houee and saw tho pavement aiti3t at work. To oiir surprise it wag a gitl. A young and really pretty girl, quite charmingly JrK&sd, in the trimmest of blue serge skirts, a little flowered cotton blouse .neatly belted to the waisb and the daintiest of white straw hats. She carried with 'her a small box of colours, and carefully taking off her gloves elie laid thsm on this when she had taken out 'her materials for work. When all was done she looked hastily •round, drew on hsr gloves again, and mardicd away. She came every morn' ing, and every morning we were at ths' window to watch and wonder. It struck us in a flash that this was no ordinary pavement artist, and we were so much interested that we sallied forth to try and get information from Mie old pave■meht squatter. He blinked With his eyes, and stirred uneasily, but -could not be made to Understand or to speak. A silver coin at last made him communicative, aild then ho nodded ibis head and in a hoarse voice said : — " Yes, ths young lady was his daughiter; yes, she was an art student, had seen better days. He himself—distinguished artist. - She gave lessons in schools ; yea, ho refused to p.iy the street aitist when 'he could g&l it done for nothing; yea!" and ' tho homble creature leered.' This, thsn, was the explanation of so much that 'had puzzled us. Th© next morning we weio up betimes and crossed the road to where the pavement artist was at work. We- watched her for some- time in silence, and then said tint' idly thai we we're interested in 'her work, her father had told us about her. "Oh, bow could he; how could he!" eha exclaimed, wringing he* hands in greatest distress. "Ho promised he would not. What ohall ( do?" Wo suggested that the st'rset was a bad place ■for conversation, and that if she would come with us a. cup of coffeo would be welcome, arid wo might talk. And so we heard her story. The father had hold a good position as drawingmaster, had married and bfoitghb up a family of children. Sha V^as the eldest, had been to South Kensington for her art training, and had got Work. The father had ifalten into bad company and taken to drink. So long as 'he remained with the mother and children things 'had gone pietty well, but he had left them, and .they had to get along as they could. " Poor father 1 , ha 'Wiaa Very ■clever," said the girl. "Ho matas me do the pavement ivork for 1 him, and says if I don't ho wijl call at the two schools where I have lessons, And fhefl we should lose all we 'have, and mother and the little- oiws would bo without. it isn't, of course," said .the girl, " that I mind helping father; bo taught -me so much ye.t»is ago; but our bMad dDpehds on my keeping respectable, else I shtnltdn't have these clothes," and she looked down with apparent shame at her pretty drees. There are a number of little streets in London which look genteel. The houses would appeaT to shelter families who musb always have their three good rtlealß per diem ahd Yorkshire pudding on Sundays. They suggest Waxworks flowers, horsehair sofas, funeral "In Memoriam." .cards, and a plentiful supply of crochet antimacassars. If, however, ydu get inside you may find, as often as not, that there are no bannisters to tho staircases, no handlcß to the doors, no blinds, no taps of any sort. In jnst such a house as this lived the pavement antist. The mother wnra a thin, worn woman, who tried^ with a fins courage, to keep something of a home together. She contrived to earn a few shillings sometimes, but the main source of the family's upkeep were the drawing-lessons of the daugiiteT "There's something ' J don't know," Riaid the mother, '' something the child doesn't toll me." What tho something was we soon discovered. The daughter liad found favour in the eyes of a very nice young fellow, who courted heT and had osked her to marry him. Sho waA terrified lost he should discover .the" story of tha pavemeitt pictures and, in the background, trie sad figure of tho father. " You toll him fhe whole of it," said 1, "andiif he's ■ a Vriiih 'ho 'will only respect and cafe for )fOu the onor.^ \Whjk

ho is 6uro to admire the pictures," I ventured. 4nd the good fellow did as I 6a id he would. He was foreman in a large wholesale warehouse. He reduced tho pavement squatter to a respectful attitude, married tho pavement artist, and thsy live to-day in a house with 'books, pictures, and all that is necessary to a home of refinement. They always speak of the father in lowered itones as " a real artist."— Mr. Frederick Harrison, in the Westminster Gazette.