to be content in Venice
without doing anything at all, though I used to fancy that he would have
been rather glad to indulge in that content himself. How far he was from
the pleasant Venetian habit of idling all day, his Venetian etchings, at
which he was working that spring--the etchings that on their appearance
in London were the innocent cause of a stirring chapter in _The Gentle
Art_--are an enduring proof. And I knew a good deal of what was going on
in his studio at the time, for J. spent many busy hours with him there,
while I, left to my own devices, stared industriously from the windows
of the _Casa Kirsch_, making believe I was gathering material, or
strolled along the _Riva_ pretending it was to market for my midday
meal, though the baker was almost next door, and the man from whom I
bought the little dried figs that nowhere are so dried and shrivelled up
as in Venice, was seldom more than a minute away. I can see now, when I
consider how my Venetian days were spent, that I came perilously near
to sinking to the deepest depths of Venetian idleness myself.

We were never alone with Duveneck at the _Orientale_. The American
Consul was sure to drop in, as he had for so many years that half his
occupation would have gone if he hadn't dropped in any longer. Martin
joined us because he loved to argue anybody into a temper and, as he was
an awful bore, succeeded with most people. He could drive me to proving
that white was black, to overturning all my most cherished idols, or to
forgetting my timidity and laying down the law upon any point of art he
might bring up. Duveneck alone refused to be roused and Martin, who
could not understand or accept his failure, was forever coming back,
making himself a bigger bore than ever, by trying again. But Shinn was
the only man I ever knew to put Duveneck into something like a temper,
and that was by asking him deferentially one night if he did not think
St. Mark's a very fine church--the next minute, however, calming him
down by inviting him out "in my gandler."

Arnold was as regular in attendance. He found the _cafe_ as comfortable
a place to sleep in as any other. Like Sancho Panza he had a talent for
sleeping. He had made his name and fame as one of the Harvard baseball
team in I will not say what year, and sleep had been his chief
occupation ever since. No end of stories were going the round of the
studios and _cafes_--he invited them without wanting it or meaning to.
He