ould but give him a few sittings, the
grey uniform of the Bengal Cavalry, the silver lace, the little bit of
red ribbon just to warm up the picture! It was seldom, Mr. Smee declared,
that an artist could get such an opportunity for colour. But no
cajoleries could induce the Colonel to sit to any artist save one. There
hangs in Clive's room now, a head, painted at one sitting, of a man
rather bald, with hair touched with grey, with a large moustache and a
sweet mouth half smiling beneath it, and melancholy eyes. Clive shows
that portrait of their grandfather to his children, and tells them that
the whole world never saw a nobler gentleman.

Well, then; Clive having decided to become an artist, on a day marked
with a white stone, Colonel Newcome with his son and Mr. Smee, R. A.,
walked to Gandish's and entered the would-be artist on the roll call of
that famous academy, and of J. J. as well, for the Colonel had insisted
upon paying his expenses as an art student together with his son.

Mr. Gandish was an excellent master and the two lads made great progress
under his excellent training. Clive used to give droll accounts of the
young disciples at Gandish's, who were of various ages and conditions,
and in whose company the young fellow took his place with that good
temper and gaiety which seldom deserted him and put him at ease wherever
his fate led him. Not one of the Gandishites but liked Clive, and at that
period of his existence he enjoyed himself in all kinds of ways, making
himself popular with dancing folks and with drawing folks, and the jolly
king of his company everywhere. He gave entertainments in the rooms in
Fitzroy Square which were devoted to his use, inviting his father and Mr.
Binnie now and then, but the good Colonel did not often attend those
parties. He saw that his presence rather silenced the young men, and went
away to play his rubber of whist at the club. And although time hung a
bit heavily on the good Colonel's hands, now that Clive's interests were
separate from his own, yet of nights as he heard Clive's companions
tramping by his bedchamber door, where he lay wakeful within, he was
happy to think his son was happy. As for Clive, those were glorious days
for him. If he was successful in the Academy, he was doubly victorious
out of it. His person was handsome, his courage high, his gaiety and
frankness delightful and winning. His money was plenty and he spent it
like a young king. He was not the mo