teau garden; the lone hero
spitting eight low-browed mercenaries of the scoundrelly duke at the
end of the blind passage; 'nother fight on the main stairway of the
palace, girl in view back of the hero, who's still acting the village
cut-up with his little rapier; and the last picture, reward of hero in
front parlor of the chateau, my Lord the Cardinal standing by to bless
the happy pair, and the wicked Duke Bazazas being dragged out by loyal
serving men to be finished off in the woodshed. The caption for that one
always is, 'At Last, My Darling!' I just glance along the proofs until I
light on those scenes. It saves a lot of reading, and I think of getting
a set of rubber stamps to do the pictures with."

"You seem to be all black-and-white men here," remarked Ewing. "Aren't
any of you painters? I've thought I'd like to work in color--to learn
the trick of it."

Griggs glanced up at him, then smiled largely.

"The trick of color, eh? Sure! There's a boy upstairs next door to
you--old Pop Sydenham. I'll take you up now, but don't let him hear you
call it 'the trick of color.' Pop has been at that trick for over a
century now--I believe he's a hundred and nineteen years old to-morrow.
He's got a darned refined sense of color, too. I guess he's seen every
color in the world, except some of those he puts on his own canvases.
Some of those I don't believe he ever saw anywhere else. But Pop's worth
knowing if you're keen to paint. He's a whole Art Students' League in
himself. Come on, he'll be proud to have you notice him."

Wiping his hands neatly on his jacket--plainly a long-established custom
with him--Griggs led the way to a room across the hall from Ewing's. He
opened the door in answer to a call and pushed Ewing in before him.
Sydenham leaned back on his stool to peer at them around the corner of
his easel.

He was an old man, as Griggs had said. White hair fell in sparse locks
over his ears, and his short, roughly pointed beard was scant enough to
reveal sunken cheeks. But the face was tanned to a wholesome brown, and
the eyes that glanced over his gold-rimmed spectacles were full of fresh
good-humor. He nodded to Griggs and clambered down from his stool to
greet Ewing.

"He's a line man now," announced Griggs after the introduction, "but
some busybody has gone and told him that there's such a thing as real
color. Of course I don't pretend to know myself, but I told him you did.
He's your neighbor on this floo