ession had been there to make. A bewildering annoyance
filled him--a first doubting of the ego he was cherishing with so fine a
care.

It is indeed a black moment when an egoist doubts himself; it is as if
the god within the temple became self-conscious; more, it is as if the
god rent down the veil before the shrine and showed himself a thing of
clay to his astonished worshippers.

The mind of Max was a complex study as he worked with his new-found
vehemence, expressing or crushing a thought with each bold stroke. He
prided himself upon his powers of self-analysis; and, being possessed as
well of honesty and of a measure of common sense, the mental picture
that confronted him was scarcely pleasant seeing. Doubt of himself--of
his own omnipotence--- had assailed him; and, being young, being spoiled
of the world, it found expression in bitter resentment.

Having continued his onslaught upon the canvas until midday was close at
hand, he suddenly astonished the unoffending Blake by flinging his
charcoal from him to the furthest end of the room, where it broke rudely
against the spotless wall-paper.

"God bless my soul!" Blake turned, to see an angry figure striding to
the window, his hair ruffled, his hands thrust deep into his trouser
pockets.

"What in God's name is the matter with you?"

There was no answer and, being a wise man, he did not press the point.

Presently, as he expected, the boyish figure wheeled round.

"I cannot work. It is all bad! All wrong!"

He rose slowly and began to walk toward the easel, but with a cry the
boy ran forward and intercepted him.

"No! No! No! It is bad, I tell you--you must not see. Look! This is what
I shall do. This!" He turned and, swift as lightning, snapped up a
knife, and before Blake could find a gesture or a word, ripped his
canvas from end to end.

"Upon my word! Well, upon my word! There's an extravagant young devil!
Why, in the name of God, would you destroy your canvas like that?"

"Why? Because, my friend, I am I! I do not work again upon a thing that
I have marred!" His voice shook, trembling between excited laughter and
tears.

Blake looked at him. "Bless my soul, if he isn't crying! Come here to
me! You're a baby!"

But Max turned on him, so furious that the hot anger in his eyes
scorched the tears that hung there.

"A baby? This much a baby, that I love my work so truly that I have set
it upon an altar and made it my religion! And when I find, as t