eeling much better," said Eugene. "I really am but I've had a bad
spell of it. I'm going to come back in the game, though, I feel sure of
it. When I do I'll know better how to take care of myself. I over-worked
on that first burst of pictures."

"I must say that was the best stuff of that kind I ever saw done in this
country," said Dula. "I saw both your shows, as you remember. They were
splendid. What became of all those pictures?"

"Oh, some were sold and the rest are in storage," replied Eugene.

"Curious, isn't it," said Dula. "I should have thought all those things
would have been purchased. They were so new and forceful in treatment.
You want to pull yourself together and stay pulled. You're going to have
a great future in that field."

"Oh, I don't know," replied Eugene pessimistically. "It's all right to
obtain a big reputation, but you can't live on that, you know. Pictures
don't sell very well over here. I have most of mine left. A grocer with
one delivery wagon has the best artist that ever lived backed right off
the board for financial results."

"Not quite as bad as that," said Dula smilingly. "An artist has
something which a tradesman can never have--you want to remember that.
His point of view is worth something. He lives in a different world
spiritually. And then financially you can do well enough--you can live,
and what more do you want? You're received everywhere. You have what the
tradesman cannot possibly attain--distinction; and you give the world a
standard of merit--you will, at least. If I had your ability I would
never sit about envying any butcher or baker. Why, all the artists know
you now--the good ones, anyhow. It only remains for you to do more, to
obtain more. There are lots of things you can do."

"What, for instance?" asked Eugene.

"Why, ceilings, mural decorations. I was saying to someone the other day
what a mistake it was the Boston Library did not assign some of their
panels to you. You would make splendid things of them."

"You certainly have a world of faith in me," replied Eugene, tingling
warmly. It was like a glowing fire to hear this after all the dreary
days. Then the world still remembered him. He was worth while.

"Do you remember Oren Benedict--you used to know him out in Chicago,
didn't you?"

"I certainly did," replied Eugene. "I worked with him."

"He's down on the _World_ now, in charge of the art department there.
He's just gone there." Then as Eugene excl