ith your worldly education to-night, dear saint.
We'll go to Polly's for dinner, and thence to a meeting at Cooper Union,
where I am to speak. Will you come?"

"Oh, yes," she cried excitedly. "It is so wonderful to have a friend and
go off for dinner and talk. You're the first friend I've ever had," she
added shyly.

"That's a responsibility," he answered, "but I like it. I must set you a
high standard."

"You have. I wish I could give you something to make you happy, in
exchange."

"I am a _gourmet_ of people, as you are of words, Jane Judd. You give me
a rare treat, a new flavour. Come, get your hat, child, and let's be
about your living!"

CHAPTER X

With Bobs and the Chatfields away, and his uptown friends believing him
to be off on a cruise, Jerry settled himself to long-neglected work, but
nothing went well. He was out of work habits, he missed his intimates,
he descended into the depths of discouragement and despair.

It was on a day of gloom within and gloom without that he set every
canvas in the studio in a row before him. He went slowly from one to
another and studied them all. Into this funereal stock-taking Jane
entered. The deep distress on his face stopped her.

"What's the matter, Mr. Paxton?"

"Jane Judd, why do you suppose I ever thought I could paint?"

"Has anything happened?"

"These have happened! Look at this collection of wax-works! Bad drawing,
no style, paint put on with a squirt gun."

"There is nothing like taking a good square look at what you have been
doing, to make you mend your ways," she said, but he was not listening.
He was enjoying his despair.

"I'll smash the whole lot of them. I never want to see them again!" He
struck a wet brush across the nearest one, but Jane seized his arm.

"Don't do that."

"I can't live in the room with them."

"All right. Send them up to the storage room."

She began to move them off and stack them against the door. Jerry threw
himself down on the couch, moodily. He scarcely noticed when the
janitor, answering Jane's summons, carried them all off to the top
floor.

"Now you've got a clean slate you can begin again," Jane said, and went
about her work.

"I shall give it up. I'll never paint again."

She made no comment, but she smiled to herself. She knew "her children,"
as she called them.

"Can't you stop fussing around, and come and talk to me?"

"I have work to do."

He came to the door of the bedroom.

"What w