p.

"Bully old place, this," Piersoll began. "My mother came to balls here
thirty years ago. Show me your stuff."

He dropped into one of the armchairs and lighted a cigarette.

Ewing opened a portfolio and placed drawings along the wall. Piersoll
slid his chair closer and studied them.

"They're only little things I've seen," murmured Ewing. "I haven't had a
chance to see much."

Piersoll blew out smoke and arose to put one of the drawings in a better
light. He gazed at this closely, swept his eye again over the others,
and exclaimed, "All right! Bully! Good drawing, and the real thing.
That's the point--you've drawn only what you've seen. They're not all
equally interesting, but they're all true. You'll do."

"I'm glad you like them. I never knew if they were good."

"They're better than I expected, from Mrs. Laithe's talk. She was so
keen about them, I made allowances."

"Mrs. Laithe seemed to think I might sell them."

"Some of those you can sell, undoubtedly. The others show what you can
do. They'll get your orders. The magazines are using a lot of Western
stuff. That ranchman's wife there in her poor little flower garden,
surrounded by a million miles of sage and cactus--fine! It's a story
picture, and the story's good. The Knickerbocker might use that. They
might want a series from you--six drawings or so--'Scenes of Ranch
Life.'"

"It sounds too good."

"It's not, and you'll get stories to illustrate. Can you draw a pretty
cowboy?"

"Pretty?"

"The kind in the magazine story. Harvard man, half-back, old New York
family, named Van-Something or other; unhappy love affair; tries ranch
life; fearless rider, dead shot 'six feet of clean-limbed, virile young
manhood,' is the approved phrase for him. He's a beautiful thing--his
man keeps his chaps pressed, and he never is seen needing a shave----"

Ewing grinned appreciatively.

"Girl comes out from New York," continued Piersoll--"_the_ girl, with
her fierce aunt--home on north side of Washington Square. I'm going to
do an article on the story people who've had fine old homes on the north
side of Washington Square--thousands! That one block would have to be
ten miles long to hold 'em. Girl in tea gown, fierce aunt with
lorgnon--threatened with death--flood, fire, Apaches, stage-robbers,
vicious bull, rattler--anything! Rescued by cool, daring, clean-limbed
Van-Soforth, who says 'By Jove!' as he risks his life. That is, if it's
in one of the respecta