boyant ornaments of
cast-iron--a jewel of a stove.

For two days Vandover hesitated between these two suites, undecided
whether he should sacrifice his studio for his sitting-room, or his
sitting-room for his studio. At length he came to the conclusion that as
he was now to be an artist a good studio ought to be the first
consideration, and that since he was to settle down to hard, serious
work at last he owed it to himself to have a fitting place in which to
paint; yes, decidedly he would take the suite with the studio. He went
to the agent, told him of his decision, and put up a deposit to secure
the rooms.

The same day upon which he took this decided step he had occasion to
pass by both places in question. As he approached the apartment house
in which the rejected suite was situated it occurred to him to tell the
clerk in the office that he had decided against the rooms; he could take
a last look at them at the same time.

He was shown up to the rooms again, and walked about in the
sitting-room, asking the same questions about the heat, the plumbing,
and the baths. He even went to the window and looked out into the
street. It _was_ a first-rate berth just the same, and how jolly it
would be to lounge in the window-seat of a morning, with a paper, a
cigarette, and a cup of coffee, watching the people on their way
downtown; the women going to their shopping and morning's marketing.
Then all at once he remembered that at most he would only have these
rooms for five months, and reflected that if his whole life was to be
devoted to painting he might easily put up with an inconvenient studio
for a few months. Once at Paris all would be different.

At that the rooms took on a more charming aspect than ever; never had
they appeared cheerier, sunnier, more comfortable; never had the oak
mantel and the tiled stove with the flamboyant ornaments been more
desirable; never had a window-seat seemed more luxurious, never a
pipe-rack more delectable, while at the same time, the other rooms, the
rooms of the big studio, presented themselves to his imagination more
sombre, uncomfortable, and forbidding than ever. It was out of the
question to think of living there; he was angry with himself for having
hesitated so long. But suddenly he remembered the deposit he had already
made; it was ten dollars; for a moment he paused, then dismissed the
matter with an impatient shrug of the shoulders. "So much the worse," he
said. "What's te