The Argosy, November 1908 — page 50: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AN ELUSIVE LEGACY By HARLAN G. STEELE. What happened when a photographer closed out his business to drop into a supposed bed of roses, and found a mare’s nest of trouble instead. CHAPTER I. THE HEIR AT LAW. T°O be acclaimed a hero—to breathe for one brief hour the intoxicating aroma of public applause! And then— to be chased out of town on a fifteen minutes’ headway like a common tramp! Ah, what a fall is that, my country- men ! It all came about through Uncle John’s legacy. Dick Behan, after an apprenticeship in one of the large, down- town galleries, had established himself in the photograph business in a small way with a studio just off Third Avenue on the upper East Side.of New York City. The stand was supposed to be a good one, for old Pinchot, two blocks below, who was a much inferior craftsman, was said to have made a fortune. But after a two years’ try at the job, Dick found himself unable to do much more than eke out a living—and a pretty precarious living at that. It was not that he was lazy or given to bad habits, unless an almost infatuated devotion to photography can be termed a bad habit. It was simply that the artistic, rather than the commercial, side of his vocation appealed to his nature. A wedding-party who wished to be taken in stiff, conventional attitudes, with the groom’s white-gloved hand laid like a protecting flour-sack on the bride’s shoulder, would be driven from his doors by scathing ridicule ;- while the doting mother who wanted a clean, hard print of her pudgy offspring sams clothing and seated in a wash-bowl, could hardly be blamed for complaining when she re- ceived instead a sketchy, -impressionistic thing of dark, Rembrandtish shadows. “Shure,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Rafferty, in towering disgust, ‘ th’ insultin’ shcoun- dhrel made me little Aloysius look like a coon!” 616 Again, if there came a heavy snow- fall, transforming the ugly streets and squalid tenements into things of beauty with its mantle of white, or if-the park was all ablow and the sun shining on some rare June day, nothing could pre- vail upon Behan to remain in his shop and wait for possible sitters. With camera slung across his shoulder, he would be out ranging the countryside, snapping a lovely bit of nature inland, or pausing on some solitary shore to focus the wild tumble of the waves upon the beach. These frequent absences, coupled with the upper East Side’s lack of apprecia- tion for Rembrandtish effects, were not conducive to the accumulation of a bank account. On the contrary, custom so steadily dwindled that at last it had be- come a serious question how the next month’s rent was to be scratched up, to say nothing of necessary supplies, board, lodging, and other expenses. Then, just at this inauspicious moment, came the news that crusty old Uncle John had died intestate, and that Dick, being the sole surviving relative, was heir at law to his entire fortune. Behan’s first emotion upon receipt of © the tidings was one of dazed incredulity. He had never seen his uncle; indeed, he had almost forgotten the existence of such a relative. All he could remember was that his father and this brother had quarreled long ago, and that for over twenty years there had been no communi- cation of any kind between his family and the grim old bachelor. True, he was aware, in a vague way, that Uncle John had prospered and was supposed to be wealthy; but as to ex: pecting any personal advantage from that fact, he would just as soon have looked for the ceiling of his studio to open up and-rain gold dollars down upon him. comicloooks.conrn