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at it was impossible to change my nature. Then I urged all the old arguments over again, and wound up by saying that even if I were to become possessor of the whole of his business to-morrow, I would sell it off, take to painting as a profession, and become the patron of aspiring young painters from that date forward! "To my surprise and consternation, this last remark put him in such a towering rage, that he vowed he would disinherit me, if I did not then and there throw my palette and brushes into the fire. Of course, I declined to do such an act, whereupon he dismissed me from his presence for ever. This occurred on the morning of the day of the fire. I thought he might perhaps relent after such an evidence of the mutability of human affairs. I even ventured to remind him that Tooley Street was not made of asbestos, and that an _occasional_ fire occurred there! But this made him worse than ever; so I went the length of saying that I would, at all events, in deference to his wishes, continue to go to the office at least for some time to come. But, alas! I had roused him to such a pitch that he refused to hear of it, unless I should `_throw my palette and brushes into the fire_!' Flesh and blood, you know, could not do that, so I left him, and walked off twenty miles into the country to relieve my feelings. There I fell in with _such_ a splendid `bit;' a sluice, with a stump of a tree, and a winding bit of water with overhanging willows, and a peep of country beyond! I sat down and sketched, and forgot my woes, and _rejoiced_ in the fresh air and delightful sounds of birds, and cows, and sheep, and _hated_ to think of Tooley Street. Then I slept in a country inn, walked back to London next day, and, _voila_! here I am!" "Don't you think, Fred, that time will soften your father?" "No, I don't think it. On the contrary, I know it won't. He is a good man; but he has an iron will, which I never saw subdued." "Then, my dear Fred, I advise you to consider the propriety of throwing your palette and brushes into--" "My dear John, I did not come here for your advice. I came for your sympathy." "And you have it, Fred," cried Barret earnestly. "But have you really such an unconquerable love for painting?" "Have I really!" echoed Fred. "Do you think I would have come to such a pass as this for a trifle? Why, man, you have no idea how my soul longs for the life of a painter, for the free fresh air o
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