different places. I
don't jest know where they be, myself. It'll be quite a chore to get 'em
all together. You jest lie still, and let me manage."

The young man ate his breakfast with relish. A subtle resolve to get up
and do things was in his eye.

Uncle William watched it, chuckling. "Sha'n't be able to keep him there
more'n a day longer," he said. "Better feed him well whilst I can." He
prepared clam-broth and toast, and wondered about an omelet, rolling in
and out of the room with comfortable gait.

The artist ate everything that was set before him, eagerly. The resolve
in his eye yielded to appreciation. "You ought to have been a chef,
Uncle William. I never tasted anything better than that." He was eating
a last bit of toast, searching with his fork for stray crumbs.

Uncle William nodded. "The' 's a good many things I'd o't to 'a' been
if I'd had time. That's the trouble with livin'. You don't hev time. You
jest practise a day or two on suthin'--get kind o' ust to it--and then
you up and hev to do suthin' else. I like cookin' fust rate while I'm
doin' it. . . . I dunno as I _should_ like it reg'lar, though. It'd be
kind o' fiddlin' work, gettin' up and makin' omelets every mornin'."

"You're an artist," said the young man.

"Mebbe. Don't you think you've licked that plat about clean?" Uncle
William looked at it approvingly. "It ain't much work to wash dishes for
you."

At intervals during the day the artist demanded his clothes, each time
a little more vigorously. Uncle William put him off. "I don't see that
picter of my house anywheres 'round," he said when pressed too close.

"No."

"You sent it off?"

"Yes." The young man was silent a minute. "Sergia took them--all of
them--when I fell sick. They were not ready--not even framed. She was to
send them to the committee. I have not heard."

"I'll go see 'em in the mornin'," said Uncle William.

"I don't know that you can--"

"Can't anybody go in--if it's an exhibit--by payin' suthin'?"

"I mean, I don't know that they're hung."

"Well, I wouldn't bother about that. I'd like to see 'em jest as well
if they ain't hung. I'm putty tall, but I can scooch down as well as
anybody. It'll seem kind o' good to see the ol' place. I was thinkin'
this mornin' I wish't there was two-three rocks round somewheres. I
guess that's what picters are for. Some folks _hev_ to live in New
York--can't _get_ away. I sha'n't mind if they ain't hung up. I can see
'em all