er dance he heard
the cry of "Hey, Rube! Why don't you do your turn?" Someone else, eager
to see her dance, called "Come on, Ruby!" The rest of the room, almost
unthinkingly took it up. Some boys surrounding her had started to push
her toward the dancing space. Before Eugene knew it she was up in
someone's arms being passed from group to group for a joke. The crowd
cheered. Eugene, however, having come so close to her, was irritated by
this familiarity. She did not appear to belong to him, but to the whole
art-student body. And she was laughing. When she was put down in the
clear space she lifted her skirts as she had done for him and danced. A
crowd of students got very close. He had to draw near to see her at all.
And there she was, unconscious of him, doing her gay clog dance. When
she stopped, three or four of the more daring youths urged her, seizing
her by the hands and arms, to do something else. Someone cleared a table
and someone else picked her up and put her on it. She did still other
dances. Someone cried, "Hey, Kenny, do you need the red dress?" So this
was his temporary sweetheart.

When she was finally ready to go home at four o'clock in the morning, or
when the others were agreed to let her go, she hardly remembered that
she had Eugene with her. She saw him waiting as two students were asking
for the privilege of taking her home.

"No," she exclaimed, seeing him, "I have my escort. I'm going now.
Good-bye," and came toward him. He felt rather frozen and out of it.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He nodded gloomily, reproachfully.

CHAPTER XII

From drawing from the nude, which Eugene came to do very successfully
that winter, his interest switched to his work in the illustration class
where costume figures were used. Here, for the first time, he tried his
hand at wash drawings, the current medium for magazine work, and was
praised after a time for his execution. Not always, however; for the
instructors, feeling that harsh criticism would make for steadier
effort, pooh-poohed some of his best work. But he had faith in what he
was destined to do, and after sinking to depths of despair he would rise
to great heights of self-confidence.

His labor for the Peoples' Furniture Company was becoming a rather
dreary grind when Vincent Beers, the instructor in the illustration
class, looking over his shoulder one Wednesday afternoon said:--"You
ought to be able to make a little money by your work prett