d see, when he gave me the
intelligence, that it was a matter which had keyed up his whole nervous
system.

Not long after this we were walking on Broadway, one drizzly autumn
evening, on our way to the theater. Life, ambition, and our future were
the _small_ subjects under discussion. The street, as usual, was
crowded. On every hand blazed the fire signs. The yellow lights were
beautifully reflected in the wet sidewalks and gray wet cobblestones
glistening with water.

When we reached Greeley Square (at that time a brilliant and almost
sputtering spectacle of light and merriment), S---- took me by the arm.

"Come over here," he said. "I want you to look at it from here."

He took me to a point where, by the intersection of the lines of the
converging streets, one could not only see Greeley Square but a large
part of Herald Square, with its then huge theatrical sign of fire and
its measure of store lights and lamps of vehicles. It was a
kaleidoscopic and inspiring scene. The broad, converging walks were
alive with people. A perfect jam of vehicles marked the spot where the
horse and cable cars intersected. Overhead was the elevated station, its
lights augmented every few minutes by long trains of brightly lighted
cars filled with changing metropolitan crowds--crowds like shadows
moving in a dream.

"Do you see the quality of that? Look at the blend of the lights and
shadows in there under the L."

I looked and gazed in silent admiration.

"See, right here before us--that pool of water there--do you get that?
Now, that isn't silver-colored, as it's usually represented. It's a
prism. Don't you see the hundred points of light?"

I acknowledged the variety of color, which I had scarcely observed
before.

"You may think one would skip that in viewing a great scene, but the
artist mustn't. He must get all, whether you notice it or not. It gives
feeling, even when you don't see it."

I acknowledged the value of this ideal.

"It's a great spectacle," he said. "It's got more flesh and blood in it
than people usually think. It's easy to make it too mechanical and
commonplace."

"Why don't you paint it?" I asked.

He turned on me as if he had been waiting for the suggestion.

"That's something I want to tell you," he said. "I am. I've sketched it
a half-dozen times already. I haven't got it yet. But I'm going to."

I heard more of these dreams, intensifying all the while, until the
Spanish-American war broke ou