d on his toes and with his eyes glinting sideways. He swore half
under his breath.

"And work, too," burst out Hawker, at last. "I came up here this season
to work, and I haven't done a thing that ought not be shot at."

"Don't you find that your love sets fire to your genius?" asked
Hollanden gravely.

"No, I'm hanged if I do."

Hollanden sighed then with an air of relief. "I was afraid that a
popular impression was true," he said, "but it's all right. You would
rather sit still and moon, wouldn't you?"

"Moon--blast you! I couldn't moon to save my life."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean moon exactly."

CHAPTER VIII.

The blue night of the lake was embroidered with black tree forms. Silver
drops sprinkled from the lifted oars. Somewhere in the gloom of the
shore there was a dog, who from time to time raised his sad voice to the
stars.

"But still, the life of the studios----" began the girl.

Hawker scoffed. "There were six of us. Mainly we smoked. Sometimes we
played hearts and at other times poker--on credit, you know--credit. And
when we had the materials and got something to do, we worked. Did you
ever see these beautiful red and green designs that surround the common
tomato can?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upon
tomatoes, remember that they might once have been encompassed in my
design. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobody
wanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus----"

"Truly?"

"Yes, indeed. It is true."

"But still, the life of the studios----"

"There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd could
have money at one time. The other five lived off him and despised
themselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we had
admiration."

"And was this just because you had no money?"

"It was because we had no money in New York," said Hawker.

"Well, after a while something happened----"

"Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened."

"In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. The
sympathy----"

"One's own people!" said Hawker.

"Yes," she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. The
appreciation----"

"'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!"

He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floated
through the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like a
blue crystal. The dog on the s