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I He must have thought I’d lost my wits. I was simply by the ideas he had put into my head. Actually, i COtt , mv whole body vibrating with exultation. 1 am not tious meeting, iso eel whole body viDraun* «u.u i am not g «. but it seemed to me that Destiny had appointed f- ing. managed this coincidence. I had drawn a litt in school. But I had never really studied or practised any & a cu • • .it a uitrlHnn on ortlni a A ere ice, 8e. of art. Now, all of a sudden, an artist had declared possessed talent—"decidedly. Do you think I slept that night? Hardly a wink! 0v« and over again I repeated: “I have talent, d have talent!” was a place for me In the world—useful work. Indepen perhaps fame. There was a long, hard road to travel, of c and many sacrifices to make. But. hadn’t I sufficiently 0 ved my capacity for sacrifice? You are thinking, perhaps, that 1 exaggerate the Joy feit when opportunity thus dropped her mask and revealefh /If to me If so I have not yet made you realize that repr slon had been the dominant factor of my life ever since my ma lags to Harry Thaw—yes, and before that marriage as long as remember. What, you may laugh, Evelyn the wilful, the undiscl ned, the spendthrift, the reckless pleasure lover and pleasure eker ever repressed! 1 have been called all these things am will not feel hurt at your thinking them. I repeat—yea, repression all my life. The repression o erty in my childhood, the repression of bewilderment an when I first set foot on the stage, the somewhat foeneficei no less firm repression of Stanford White, the egotist!* 1 re pression of Harry, the iron repression of the Thaw9 in burgh, the inexorable repression of the trials and the repression- ward. -the thraldom to the Thaw bank account- tfter All ray life 1 had been slave of one thing after another. 1 suddenly found that 1 had wiug3 and could use them, so I pov- fear hut htts- )f(iid Now jould Evelyn in ‘ "Of course there was a possibi and of earning my living as I had done at that time my experiences as chorus ful little part that I had in ‘The Wild go back to a stage career.** Chapter XIII.—Face to Face with Poverty in a Hall Bedroom, Evelyn Thaw Tries to Begin a New Life with a Serious Purpose. factory, she can, if she has some education, get & position as a governess, a child's nurse. As a last resource she can even work in a hotel or go into domestic service. All very true, you theorists, but Evelyn Thaw could do none of these thing; She was too well known. Her face had been stamped upon the minds of people for months. How long do you think she would have lasted behind a counter in a store? How long would the curiosity of her fellow worker* have a! lowed her to last in a factory? How long would she have lasted in any home as a domestic servant once the women of the fam ily had known who she was. and how long could she have stood it In any hotel? No; my notoriety had closed every door to myself except that of the stage, those to perdition, and any which 1 might discover for myself—I mean some capacity, some talent, still latent, that 1 might find and develop Into a rope to pull myself out of this unhappiness and uncertainty Into self-supporting and self-respect ing ireedom. And I found that door. Nothing along the old lines. Some thing quite glorious, that sent me into the seventh heaven of happiness, of confidence in myself. • A little windfall—barely sufficient—had enabled me to for sake that dreary furnished room and to take a little studio apartment in Thirty-fourth street, back of the Waldorf-Astoria. My brother Howard had come to live with me for awhile, and here were accommodations for us both, We were soon settled. How I Found the Door to Freedom. There was a good sized studio with a skylight, and an open grate fire which furnished a pleasant glow In the evenings when we sat before it and talked or dreamed about the future. This room 1 called "my studio," though It had not yet deserved that title. Opening from it was a bedroom which Howard occupied My own bedroom was underneath. I am particularizing in this way as a woman will over scenes that linger pleasantly in her memory. Besides, this scene was big for me with its significance of coming events. One night, as my brother and I sat before the open fire, I suddenly felt that I wanted to do something—use my hands, make something. I have very capable hands—If you'll pardon the conceit. They had always been as useful to me as a boy’s hands are to him. I was one of those girls who actually could throw a stone, and who could whittle with her brother’s Jack knife without cutting her fingers. I had, also, a boy’s fearless ness of snakes—in this latitude few snakes are poisonouB, or can do one any kind of harm. Often 1 had picked up a snake on a country road as a little girl and reversed the usual pro ceeding by pursuing a boy and attempting to wind it about his neck. Like most little boys, too, as a little girl, I wasn’t afraid of getting my capable hands dirty. Well, as we sat in the glow of the fire, and I felt that sudden desire to do something with my hands, I said to my brother: “■Howard, give me your jack-knife, I’m going to whittle.’ My brother muttered something about "second childhood,” but sanded over his knife. • There were some bits of soft wood kindling about, end I was soon making the whittlings fly. I had never whittled aimlessly, as a farmer does while he sits on the fence talking politics with his neighbor. I had always made something. Without any definite purpose In my mind, I was now whittling out mannikins —little human figures, each with Its due allotment of head, arms and legs. I even put faces on them. Really, I was very clever at this. The arms were not too long nor the legs too short, it seemed that I had a natural instinct for physical proportions. After a while—It was still early in the evening—there came a tap at the door. A well-known painter had a studio In the building, and our acquaintance with him had passed beyond the formal stage. So I called out a cheerful “Come!” He entered—an agreeable man, frank and friendly. We In vited him to sit with us before the grate fire. He seemed to appreciate the cozy qualities of the room—and now there were three of us sitting before the grate fire. I went on with my whittling. "What," said our guest presently, with an air of badinage, "a girl whittling? Aren’t you afraid of cutting your fingers?" "No.” I answered, "for I know how to whittle. I’m a whittler from Whittlersvllle.” I had just given the finishing touches to a little figure of an Indian girl. I handed it to him by way of proof of my boast. He examined it curiously, from different angles, and I could see his face light up. "Not at all bad,” he said. "Really very good. Evidently you’re strong on proportions. And the pose Is quite unstrained —natural. Do you often do this?” I toid. him that whittling out little figures of men and animals was one of my favorite amusements. "Amusements!" he muttered—but it was really an exclama tion, and its significance thrilled me. "It’s a most fortunate thing." he said, "when ’amusement’ and useful work coincide. Why don’t you get some plastillne and cover some of your carved figures. I would like to see what you can do in that line." "Do you mean.” I said, "that I—that these little figures”— sudden, agitating hope that this might prove to be, "the time the place and the man.” almost deprived me of speech. "I mean,” he answered slowly and reflectively, as though talk ing t6 himself rather than to me. "that a true sense of propor tion Is a valuable gift. It is difficult to teach. It seems to me that you nave talent—yes, decidedly.” He spoke a few pleasant word* of leave-taking and was gone Written by Evelyn Nesbit Thaw. — ■M Copyright, 1913, by Star Company. Book Rights Reserved by Evelyn Nesbit Thaw. CHE A P. red rug worries the floor, and, of course, there is a shining, bottle-green wall paper. Luckily, there is only one work of art—a sketch by Pcnrhyn Eton ian* of t\oo absurdly fluffy young women standing on what looks like a mountain of ice. “The furniture is the inevitable ’bird's-eye maple.' Perhaps I might get to sleep if the bed wasn't so hard. Across the sheet Is s sporty all night restaurant—ablaze, with lights—much patron ised by the inhabitants of some limbo of the underworld. "It's t a m I 8tUl awake. Surely the Sandman has given pie the 'icy mitt' this night. Well—no matter—I can entertain myself.'’ I find this note in my fliarv. written verv early in the year 1910. when I was living In the very cheapest room I could find In New York—somewhere in West Fortyvfourth street, 1 think. My finances were at their lowest ebb. I was knowing again the actual pineb of poverty. Indeed, my situation was desperate. I was no better off. no, not so well oft as I was back In those old days when mother and I starved together. The Thaws had thrown me aside abso lutely. Where during the first and second trials It had been "Dearest Evelyn” and "poor heroic child,” 1t was now only an occasional cold, curt note from some of the numerous Thaw law yers, or else a mere empty chilling silence void of either money or the faintest touch of sympathy. I laughed a little bitterly as ! thought of the flowers that came to me dally from the Thaw* at that time I was sacrificing repu tation, future and shame to save Harry’s life; I thought of the many tender messages from Mother Thaw, from Sister Alice and so on. their eagerness to pay my rent and, without question, any bills that 1 might want to run np. I recalled, too. a curious message from Harry, in which be had re buked me for some economy and had written, "Spend all you want. Let the people know that you have a hus band able and willing to support you in the best of style ” I looked again at the cheap red rug and the bottle green wall paper and 1 laughed I couldn't help It. Because that message was so char acteristic of Harry I don’t think I have yet touched upon this peculiar phase of Harry’s capacity for spending money. He was an egotist as a spendthrift, as In everything else He always wanted full advertising value for every penny. And he was singularly re luctant to part with any money If the result of the parting would not be something dramatic. He was never libers! unless that liberality might be supposed to bring eaose sensation In which the public could share and the limelight be di rected upon himself. For Instance, before the tragedy It would some times strike me as unreasonable In him to refuse to let ma buy a pretty little bat I had eeen 1n a shop win dow, and then come home that same night and boast of baling swept all the cut glass off a bar in the Hoff man House, and of having settled for It with a ohech for $300. Before our marriage, when we were travelling in Europe, If I awoke in the night with a nightmare from eating too much Camembert cheese. Harry would awaken the hotel by summoning at least a dozen of the best physicians He would consult with them as earnestly as though the whole Thaw fortune were at stake, and assist them in drawing up a strict diet for me and pay them anything they asked, if 1 had a headache, specialists were called In. and 1 would be treated like an invalid de luxe for a week at least— hut he had no sympathy at all in my need for a new pair of peculiarly colored silk stockings. The commotion In the hotel, the grave looking doctors, the almost tragically serious conferences, all satisfied his dramatic instinct. Just as did paying the $300 for smashing the barroom glass before an admiring audience. I had appealed time and again to Harry In Matteawan for money. He had refused me on the ground that he needed every cent for Ms plans for freedom. 1 quite understood his position and I did not feel the resentment toward him, that morning 1 wrote the note that begins this chapter, that I felt toward bis family. Harry’s Income, I had been led to believe, was about $80,000 a year, and I knew that any moment 1 could present to him some scheme whereby I could guarantee to produce a satis tying dramatic moment he would be quite capable of giving me all or any part of it. But 1 couldn’t think of anything. I had gotten, oh. so desperately sick of notoriety! No; the red rug and the green wall paper did not stir within me resentment against my husband. Harry Was not responsible. But Harry's family was responsible. Strange as my poverty may seem to you who read, and in credible as the situation may appear, It had oome about very simply and logically. I have bad beaten Into me a tolerant philosophy; I have always had. thank whatever gods there be, a sense of humor and of proportion. That the "what-ought-to- be” seldom appears as the “what is” is not the fault of ue little human beings, but rather of the peculiar System some where out In space that governs us. That the Thaws, with their Idolatry of social position, their Plttsburgh-Presbyterian ideal of conduct, tbelr ever-living resentment against me for having dared to come Into Harry’s life, should treat me so after they thought my usefulness was gone was not surprising That Harry, half-crazed and supreme egotist, should have no feeling for me now it seemed that I could neither be of use to 'him nor throw upon him a comforting beam of publicity was not aurpris jng, either. 'But it was surprising that this glorious System which rules mankind so "beneficently” and which the Thaws called "true Christianity” should permit such a situation. If the Thaws wanted me out of their lives, well and good, I would gladly go and forget them and—let them forget me 1 would even live In such a manner that they would never hear of me again. But In the name of all good faith and their Christianity was it fair to toss me, still only a child, out into the world like a dirty rag, and not care whether I was washed down through the gutters Into the sewers of life! Mrs. Thaw had promised me a certain sum each month. 1 didn't get It. 'Despite the newspaper stories and the statements of the Thaw lawyers at that time and since of how well I was provided for, the fact remains that I was not so provided for. That’® all there is to it. It stands to reason that If 1 had gotten what was coming to me I would not have been living in this littlp room looking at the atrocious red rug. the green wall paper and lying awake ail night listening to the cboo-choo of automobiles drawing up to the joy-palace opposite. No; what actually had happened was this: I had a number of 'pawnable things, a few Jewels Harry had given me and some other trinkets, f would go on for a time re ceiving abso lutely nothing. 1 would have tc pawn some of. my things. I would run up bills. Then I would get a small check from the Thaws. It would not be enough usually to set me even with the world again, let alone keeping me. The bills would not all be paid. Soon the check would be exhausted, more things would have to be pawned. And so It would go on. I was like a girl h an g 1 n g to a rope over an abyss. The Thaws were at the other end of t h e r o p e. I would keep slid ing down for a time, and then they would pull me up a little. But never up as far as 1 had gone down. Then I would slide again. Then there would be another little pull. You see. under such circumstances it is only a matter of time when one gets so far down in the abyss that there is no chance at all of getting hack. And that Is why I was in the little Forty-fourth street room that morning with, a bunch of pawntickets and little else. Frankly I didn't know what to do. I shall to the end of my Hie associate cheap red rugs and bottle green wall paper with ideas of suicide, utter failure, complete down-and-outness and des peration. Of course, there was the possibility of my returning to the stage and of earning my living as 1 had done before I met Harry Thaw-. But at that time my experiences as chorus girl in "Floro- dora" and the pitiful little part that 1 had In “The Wild Rose" did not make me eager to go back to a stage career. I had been ndvtsed, Indeed, to do so. not only by friends, but by theatrical people who saw in the notoriety I had attained a chance to make money. But I did not want to go on the stage as a freak. The public will surely grant me sorie little credit for not doing so when the circumstances were as desperate with me as they were then, and the Thaws ought still to be grateful. I would not go upon the stage; It was Impossible for me to get work anywhere, and 1 could not hope for anything from my husband or my husband s family. What. then, was I to do? And here I suspect that you are asking yourself. "Why could she not get some honest work if she so desired?” Just think for a moment What Is there that an unskilled girl can do? 8he can sew. she can become a saleswoman, she Can go Into a Hopi Indian Maiden. This crude bit of sculpture was executed by Evelyn with putty and a nail file before she had taken any lessons in sculpture.