of Mr. President. They say he's been too free
with concessions; and they accuse him of trying to make a dicker with
England to sell out the country. We want that picture done and paid
for before there's any row."

In the great _patio_ of Casa Morena, the president caused to be
stretched a huge canvas. Under this White set up his temporary
studio. For two hours each day the great man sat to him.

White worked faithfully. But, as the work progressed, he had seasons
of bitter scorn, of infinite self-contempt, of sullen gloom and
sardonic gaiety. Keogh, with the patience of a great general,
soothed, coaxed, argued--kept him at the picture.

At the end of a month White announced that the picture was
completed--Jupiter, Washington, angels, clouds, cannon and all. His
face was pale and his mouth drawn straight when he told Keogh. He
said the president was much pleased with it. It was to be hung in
the National Gallery of Statesmen and Heroes. The artist had been
requested to return to Casa Morena on the following day to receive
payment. At the appointed time he left the hotel, silent under his
friend's joyful talk of their success.

An hour later he walked into the room where Keogh was waiting, threw
his hat on the floor, and sat upon the table.

"Billy," he said, in strained and labouring tones, "I've a little
money out West in a small business that my brother is running. It's
what I've been living on while I've been studying art. I'll draw out
my share and pay you back what you've lost on this scheme."

"Lost!" exclaimed Keogh, jumping up. "Didn't you get paid for the
picture?"

"Yes, I got paid," said White. "But just now there isn't any picture,
and there isn't any pay. If you care to hear about it, here are the
edifying details. The president and I were looking at the painting.
His secretary brought a bank draft on New York for ten thousand
dollars and handed it to me. The moment I touched it I went wild. I
tore it into little pieces and threw them on the floor. A workman
was repainting the pillars inside the _patio_. A bucket of his paint
happened to be convenient. I picked up his brush and slapped a quart
of blue paint all over that ten-thousand-dollar nightmare. I bowed,
and walked out. The president didn't move or speak. That was one time
he was taken by surprise. It's tough on you, Billy, but I couldn't
help it."

There seemed to be excitement in Coralio. Outside there was a
confused, rising murmur pierced