him made
disparaging remarks about the dimensions of his back, which seemed
unkind, considering that he did not hesitate to use the back from time
to time as an easel.

The air was hot and thick with charcoal dust. The crowded disorder
confused him. He tried to think only of the cast. He began at the head,
as was his custom, and felt a moment's exhilaration in studying the
delicate shadows beneath the filleted curls.

He was aroused by sounds of derision from behind, and ominous prophecies
of what "Old Velvet" would do to him when he caught sight of that
pompadour. He observed then that the other men were not working at the
head first, but mapping out the entire figure at once with long, raking,
angular lines that blocked the shadows in square masses. He half rose
and looked about. They were all working alike, with their drawing boards
far out, and with blunt charcoal. He had spent half an hour sharpening
his, and had hugged his drawing board.

He sat down again, impelled by protests from behind and drew the entire
figure, but he could not bring himself to do it in those rude angles. He
drew it with a single line--down the curving flank, about the gracious
knees, skirting the feet, and up once more to round the farther shoulder
that drooped above the nestling breast. Although he did not know it,
this was a feat; the swing of the body was almost perfect, yet he had
not skirmished a moment.

The youth behind him was now peering through spectacles above his
shoulder.

"You're a queer duck!" he said; "but he'll make you do it his way. What
do you mean by drawing like that?"

"Why?" asked Ewing, confused. "Let's see yours."

The other exhibited. There was no outline, there were no gracious
curves, only a suggestion of angular shadows, scratched across with
brutal straightness. Yet, when Ewing squinted his eyes a bit the thing
stood out.

"Wait till I get _my_ shadows in," he said.

"Cart before the horse!" rejoined the critic. "I see your finish with
the old man."

Ewing started to lay in his shadows as the other had done, but it seemed
as if that delicate body appealed for gentler treatment. He rubbed out
the vandal lines and began swinging around the figure in the curving
strokes habitual with him, strokes that nursed each lovely rondure like
caresses. Then, until the closing hour, he polished, picking out the
precious little reflected lights that saved her treasures from shadow.

"Red ruin for you, my boy!