or ever,
but the sum of what he said was that he wanted to enter Cedersholm's
studio.

"The old Italians took subordinates, sir," he pleaded.

"There are classes at Cooper Union," Cedersholm began.

But Fairfax, his clear eyes on the artist, said, "But I want to work
under a genius."

The other, complimented, pushed his milk aside and wiped his lips.

"Well, of course, there _is_ plenty of hard work to be done right here
in this studio." He spoke cautiously and in a measured tone. "I have
workmen with me, but no artists."

Fairfax patiently waited. He was as verdant as the young jasmine leaves,
as inexperienced and guileless as a child.

"I had not thought of taking such an assistant as you represent, Mr.
Fairfax." The older man fixed him with clever eyes. "A man must have no
end of courage in him, no end of patience, no end of humility, to do
what you _say_ you want to do."

The young man bowed his head. "Courage, patience, and humility are the
attributes of genius, sir."

"Yes," admitted Cedersholm, "they are, but ordinary talent will do very
well in my workshop, and it is all that I need in a subordinate."

Fairfax smiled lightly. "I think I may say I am a good worker, Mr.
Cedersholm. Any hod-carrier may say that without vanity, and if you turn
me out, I'll take a mason's place at two dollars a day."

Cedersholm smiled. "You don't look like a mason," he said hesitatingly,
"though you do appear muscular. What would be your suggestion with
regard to our relations?"

(Fairfax's eager heart was saying, "Oh, teach me, Master, all you know;
let me come and play with the clay, finger it, handle it; set me loose
in that big, cool, silent room beyond there; let me wander where I can
see the shadow of that cast and the white draped figure from where I
sit.")

"You are a fairly good draftsman?" Cedersholm asked. "Have you any taste
for decoration and applied design?"

"I think I have."

The Master rose. "Come to-morrow morning at ten and I'll give you
something to do. I have just accepted a contract for interior
decoration, a new house on Fifth Avenue. I might possibly make you
useful there."

* * * * *

Fairfax walked home on air. He walked from Ninth Street, where the
studio was, to his boarding-house, in the cold, still winter night--a
long tramp. In spite of his limp he swung along, his coat open, his hat
on the back of his head, his cheeks bright, his lips smiling. As h