hours, we saw a gradual arrest in
the practical development of his plan.

"For every thousand dollars he talks of spending on his work, I believe
he knocks off a cigar, or buys one less newspaper," Halidon grumbled
affectionately; "but after all," he went on, with one of the quick
revivals of optimism that gave a perpetual freshness to his spirit,
"after all, it makes one admire him all the more when one sees such a
nature condemned to be at war with the petty inherited instinct of
greed."

Still, I could see it was a disappointment to Halidon that the great
project of the Academy of Arts should languish on paper long after all
its details had been discussed and settled to the satisfaction of the
projector, and of the expert advisers he had called in council.

"He's quite right to do nothing in a hurry--to take advice and compare
ideas and points of view--to collect and classify his material in
advance," Halidon argued, in answer to a taunt of mine about Paul's
perpetually reiterated plea that he was still waiting for So-and-so's
report; "but now that the plan's mature--and _such_ a plan! You'll
grant it's magnificent?--I should think he'd burn to see it carried
out, instead of pottering over it till his enthusiasm cools and the
whole business turns stale on his hands."

That summer Ambrose went to Europe, and spent his holiday in a frugal
walking-tour through Brittany. When he came back he seemed refreshed by
his respite from business cares and from the interminable revision of
his cherished scheme; while contact with the concrete manifestations of
beauty had, as usual, renewed his flagging ardour.

"By Jove," he cried, "whenever I indulged my unworthy eyes in a long
gaze at one of those big things--picture or church or statue--I kept
saying to myself: 'You lucky devil, you, to be able to provide such a
sight as that for eyes that can make some good use of it! Isn't it
better to give fifty fellows a chance to paint or carve or build, than
to be able to daub canvas or punch clay in a corner all by yourself?'"

"Well," I said, when he had worked off his first ebullition, "when is
the foundation stone to be laid?"

His excitement dropped. "The foundation stone--?"

"When are you going to touch the electric button that sets the thing
going?"

Paul, with his hands in his sagging pockets, began to pace the library
hearth-rug--I can see him now, setting his shabby red slippers between
its ramified cabbages.

"My