nd soul, on his
flesh and blood, on his bleeding wounds, Rainsford. I worked in
Cedersholm's studio, I slaved for him night and day for eighteen months.
I spilled my youth and heart's blood there, I did indeed." His face
working, he tapped his friend's arm with his hand. "I made the moulds
for those beasts. I cast them in bronze, right there in his studio.
Every inch of them is mine, Rainsford, mine. By ... you can't take it
in, of course, you don't believe me, nobody would believe me, that's why
I can do nothing, can't say anything, or I'd be arrested as a lunatic.
But Cedersholm's fame in this instance is mine, and he has stolen it
from me and shut me out like a whipped dog. He thinks I am poor and
unbefriended, and he knows that I have no case. Why, he's a _hound_,
Rainsford, the meanest hound on the face of the earth."

Rainsford soothed his friend, but Fairfax's voice was low with passion,
no one could overhear its intense tone.

"Don't for a moment think I have lost my senses. If you don't believe
me, give me a pencil and paper and I'll sketch you what I mean."

Rainsford was very much impressed and startled. "If what you say is
true," he murmured.

And Fairfax, who had regained some of his control--he knew better than
any one the futility of his miserable adventure--exclaimed--

"Oh, it's true enough; but there is nothing to do about it. Cedersholm
knows that better than any one else."

He sat back, and his face grew dark and heavy with its brooding. His
companion watched him helplessly, only half convinced of the truth of
the statement. Fairfax lifted his eyes and naively exclaimed--

"Isn't it cruel, Rainsford? You speak of failures; did you ever see such
a useless one as this? Cedersholm and his beasts which they say right
here are the best things in modern sculpture, and me with my engine and
my--" He stopped. "Give me the bill," he called to George Washington.

The old darkey, used as he was to his gentleman's moods, found this one
stranger than usual.

"Anythin' wrong with the dinner, Kunnell?" he asked tremulously. "Very
sorry, Capting. Fust time yo'--"

Fairfax put the money in his hand. "All right, George," he assured
kindly, "your dinner's all right--don't worry. Good-bye." And he did not
say as he usually did, "See you next Sunday." For he had determined to
go down to New York for the unveiling of the monument.

CHAPTER XXV

The May afternoon, all sunshine and sparkle, had a wine