IN HAPPY-GO-LUCKY LAND.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17027, 28 April 1923, Page 13

IN HAPPY-GO-LUCKY LAND.

SOME STOHIE&. OF ARTISTS' MODELS. Artists’ models are the cheeriest, go lucky Bohemians in the A girl-model had the misfortune to j iaii jnio arrears with lrer gas but. ' j.he result was that an unsympathetic ! company dispatched a couple, or young j men, with .t bag oi tools, to Chelsea, | ancl the gas was cut on. An ordinary householder might have ' felt depressed by such an episoae : but j not so .VHsb Blank. She studied the j position carefully and soon hit upon ! a remedy. ! Having obtained some stout wire, she ' twisted it. into an ingenious device, | which neatly fitted a gas-bracket in j the passage outside her door. Wherui she wanted to cook anything she die j it over the public gas jet. her kettle, ; saucepan, or lying-pan being held in j position by the wire support. So she | tided over the Jean weeks until .sittings became plentiful again and the gas bili cov.lcl bo paid. A well-known sculptor had been commissioned to do a bust of King Edward. At the same time he had in hand the life-sized figure of an angel, which was to adorn the tomb oi some celebrity. When the bust was nearing completion his Majesty sent word that he would visit the studio on a certain day to inspect it. The day arrived and found the sculptor feverishly busy with liis angel. on whom he was working from a model. Ail thought of timv was. forgotten until a com motion outside announced the arrival ol’ the King. AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT. There was not a moment to be lost. I he girl was bundled behind a screen, j with strict in j notions to stand still and j remain quiet, and immediately after- j wards his Majesty entered the studio. | But the model liau ween nurned off j So unceremoniously that she had not | even had time to don her dressing- j gown, and the garb of an angel is a j bit draughty at best. She therefore began stealthily tu draw on her gown, and in doing so naturally thrust out her arms. Alas! one of them touched the screen, anti down it fell, leaving the Royal party face to face with an extremely embarrassed ” angel, half in and half out of her cressing gown Needless to say (says a writer in j “The Humorist”), his Majesty was j quite equal to the occasion. itn t* j laughing " 5 see you have »>een iia.ru \ at work this morning," he turned ; again to consider the bust. A really Bohemian wedding does not ■ take, place every day in the week, but j there has been at least one such cere - ! mom* in recent years. A model was going to be married, and in honour of the event a studio rag was arranged overnight. I o this the prospective bride and bridegroom, together with their friends, repaired in fancy dress. The proceedings were lively and prolonged. and at last the weary revellers dropped where they stood and went to sleep. They were roused by a thunderous knocking, and awoke m some surprise to find that it was time to set out for the registrar’s office. No one who witnessed it will ever forget the appearance of that wedding party ! W itli their fancy costumes considerably j dilapidated, they marched jauntily through the Chelsea streets. But the climax came when they met tyro of the bridegroom's more conventional friends. OP these, the man was immaculately got up in top hat. frock coat, and lavender gloves, while the lady carried three arum lilies. The contrast was too funny for words! The studio rag is comparatively rare now, owing to high prices, but in the old days it was a feature of Chelsea life. You danced /till you were ‘‘done.” Then you went to sleep in the most comfortable corner you could find. PERSIST ENCE R EWARDED. On one occasion, in a ground-floor studio, some bright lad turned the water on and left it running, with the result that the party were Hooded out of their dreams a few hours iater. The artist's model is seldom caught' napping. One clay an artist fixed on the door of his studio a notice to the effect that no models were wanted. Not long afterwards he was disturbed by a sharp i at-a-tat-tat. Thinking it must be one of his friends, he hastened t-j the door. He found himself facing a handsome young woman, who inquired, in the coolest possible manner, whether she might have the pleasure or posing foi j him. “ I'm not in need of a model. Can’t you see the notice, staring you in the | face: ‘No Models Wanted’?” ex- | claimed the irritated painter. The girl looked at the notice and ! then at the artist. ” Oh. yes. F. sow that,” she. said. ” but 1 thought you’d i forgotten to take it down !” The girl’s 1 persistence won her a sitting. SNAKES ALIVE! fin a certain set of studios not a I hundred miles from Cheyne Walk, j which have sometimes been irrever- ! entJy called ‘' the home of the hardi ups.” there dwelt an artist’s model j who had a weakness for snakes. She j kept several formidable looking serpents in her studio and created a considerable sensation by sometimes appearing with the creatures affectionately entwined around her arms and shoulders. She was. moreover, of an easy-going ' and trustful disposition. At times i she would leave the door of her studio open, which was iueonsiderate. For suppose one happened to return late from dining with one’s rich uncle, onlv to be met in the passage by a well- developed python ! It was scarcely fair. Even a Pussyfooter would have seen snakes in such circumstances.