en he spoke, his voice had the
tenderness of a woman's:

"My friend, you have been unfortunate! I am a worker myself, and have
needed help in my time. Come to my rooms with me. I am all alone; and
you must have rest and food."

"Food!" There was a note of elemental savagery in the weakened voice.
"Food!--My God! My God! Give me food!--My gloves only got me half a loaf
the day before yesterday--or--three days ago it was,--I think."

* * * * *

"Are you strong enough, yet? Are you sure you can?--You see, you've been
through a fearful ordeal."

Ivan spoke rather anxiously as, two hours later, he bent over the young
man, now lying on the divan in Ivan's living-room and looking even
whiter and wearier than before he had eaten the meal just finished.

But the stranger smiled; and at sight of that smile Ivan felt a thrill
of surprise. The eyes and features lighted up till the gaunt signs of
want were forgotten and the face looked like that of some cherubic boy.
It was a revelation so pleasant that a faint suggestion of
weakness--resembling the cloying after-taste of a saccharine
beverage--went, for the moment, unnoticed.

"I want to talk to you. You see, you're the only one that's done
anything for me.--You are an artist, too. I guessed it before you told
me.--But you can't have had the struggle I've had: everything against me
from the beginning: unknown, and terribly, terribly poor: ambitious, but
with no _chance_ for success!--But you've saved me--and my canvas. That
was the last thing I had to sell; and without it there was no hope."

"Paints and brushes and knives--what could you do without those? Were
they all gone?--You see, I've been pretty near where you are myself, in
the past."

It was a surprise to see the sudden look of petulance that crossed the
other's face. "Oh, my working-tools!--You see you can't understand. You,
of course, only need ink and paper. But we painters must have plenty of
implements to work with.--Why, I kept them and starved! Could I do any
more?"

Ivan shook his head, slightly puzzled. "You've had a very bad time of
it. If you feel able, tell me," he said.

The stranger elbowed himself a little higher, and took a mouthful of
wine and water from the chair beside him. Ivan settled close by,
cigarette in hand, facing him; and, during the hour that followed, his
thoughts never strayed. The tale he heard interested him deeply, stirred
his admiration, and, a