it's _I_
who am wrong!"

"Of course," I said. It seemed so natural.

"This one," he said, taking up one that was numbered "1," "is a plain
photograph, in the flesh, before it started; _you_ know! Now look at
this, and this--"

He spread them before me, all in order.

"2" was a little fogged, as if a novice had taken it; on "3" a sort of
cloudy veil partly obliterated the face; "4" was still further smudged
and lost; and "5" was a figure with gloved hands held up, as a man holds
his hands up when he is covered by a gun. The face of this one was
completely blotted out.

And it didn't seem in the least horrible to me, for I kept on murmuring,
"Of course, of course."

Then Benlian rubbed his hands and smiled at me. "I'm making good
progress, am I not?" he said.

"Splendid!" I breathed.

"Better than you know, too," he chuckled, "for you're not properly under
yet. But you will be, Pudgie, you will be--"

"Yes, yes!... Will it be long, Benlian?"

"No," he replied, "not if I can keep from eating and sleeping and
thinking of other things than the statue--and if you don't disturb me by
having girls about the place, Pudgie."

"I'm awfully sorry," I said contritely.

"All right, all right; ssh!... This, you know, Pudgie, is my own studio;
I bought it; I bought it purposely to make my statue, my god. I'm passing
nicely into it; and when I'm quite passed--_quite_ passed, Pudgie--you
can have the key and come in when you like."

"Oh, thanks awfully," I murmured gratefully.

He nudged me.

"What would they think of it, Pudgie--those of the exhibitions and
academies, who say 'their souls are in their work'? What would the
cacklers think of it, Pudgie?"

"Aren't they fools!" I chuckled.

"And I shall have _one_ worshipper, shan't I, Pudgie?"

"Rather!" I replied. "Isn't it splendid!... Oh, need I go back just yet?"

"Yes, you must go now; but I'll send for you again very soon.... You know
I tried to do without you, Pudge; I tried for thirteen days, and it
nearly killed me! That's past. I shan't try again. Now off you trot, my
Pudgie--"

I winked at him knowingly, and came skipping and dancing across the yard.

III

It's just silly--that's what it is--to say that something of a man
doesn't go into his work.

Why, even those wretched little ivories of mine, the thick-headed fellows
who paid for them knew my touch in them, and once spotted it instantly
when I tried to slip in another chap's who was hard u