say any more, Calvotti. I've been a fool, and the governor has
been right all the time.'

'If I said these things, you would believe them?'

'_If_ you said them?' he cried, coming from-behind my chair. 'But do you
say them?'

'Stand off!' I said, laughing. A man can rarely endure praise and blame
with equal fortitude. My young friend, you will some day paint great
pictures. In four or five hundred years' time great painters will look
at this and will reverently point out in it the faults of early manner;
but they will read the soul in it--as I do now. You are a creature of
a hundred years--a painter, an artist. This is not paint, but a face--a
face of flesh and blood, with soul behind. And this is not paint, but
a faded brown silk. And this is not paint, but solid mahogany. You have
done more than paint a picture. You have made concrete an inspiration.
Your technique is all masterly, but it does not overpower. It gives only
fitting body to a beautiful idea--its soul!'

He blushed and trembled whilst I spoke. Englishmen do not often talk
poetry--off the stage. He answered--

'No, really, Calvotti, old man, that's rot, you know. But do you like
it?'

I spoke gravely then.

'My dear young friend, so surely as that is your work, so surely will
you be a great artist if you choose.'

'You bet I choose,' this young genius answered. He would sooner have
died, I suppose, than have put his emotions at that moment into words.
This is another characteristic of you English. You will sooner look like
fools than have it appear that you feel. You wear the rags of cynicism
over the pure gold of nature. This is a foolish pride, but it is useless
to crusade against national characteristics.

I was a little chilled, and I said in a business tone--

'Well, we will see about selling this at once.'

'No,' he answered. 'I will not sell this.'

'No?' I asked.

'No,' he said again; 'not this picture,' And for one minute he regarded
it, and then shook his head and once more said 'No.'

'Well,' I answered, not trying to persuade him, 'I will ask Mr. Gregory
to look at it, and he will give you a commission for a work, and then
you will be fairly afloat.'

'Oh, thank you, Calvotti. What a good fellow you are!'

I was unsettled for work. My praise was hysterical and hyperbolical. I
could have wept whilst I uttered it. For though I had given up all hope,
and though I was glad to find that in art he was worthy as in manhood
he was