vourite _cafe_.
Cedersholm had hot milk and biscuits in a corner instead, and Fairfax
drew off the wet covering from his clay. Cedersholm enjoyed his light
repast, considering the model which nearly filled the corner of the
room. He fitted in an eyeglass, and in a distinguished manner regarded
the modelling. Fairfax, who had been cold with excitement, felt his
blood run tepid in his veins.

"And your sketches, Fairfax?" asked the Master, and held out his hand.

Fairfax carried him over a goodly pile from the table. Cedersholm turned
them over for a long time, and finally held one out, and said--

"This seems to be in the scale of the measurements of the library
ceiling?"

Fairfax's voice sounded childish to himself as he responded--

"I think it's correct, sir, to working scale."

"It might do with a few alterations," said Cedersholm. "If you care to
try it, Fairfax, it might do. I will order the scaffolding placed
to-morrow, and you can sketch it in, in charcoal. It can always come
out, you know. You might begin the day after to-morrow."

The Master rose leisurely and looked about him. "Jove," he murmured,
"it's good to be back again to the lares and penates."

Fairfax left the Master among the lares and penates, left him amongst
the treasures of his own first youth, the first-fruits of his ardent
young labour, and he went out, not conscious of how he quivered until he
was on his way up-town. What an ass he was! No doubt the stuff was
rubbish! What could he hope to attain without study and long
apprenticeship? Why, he was nothing more than a boy. Cedersholm had been
decent not to laugh in his face--Cedersholm's had been at once the
kindest and the cruelest criticism. He called himself a thousand times a
fool. He had no talent, he was marked for failure. He would sweep the
streets, however, and lay bricks, before he went back to his mother in
New Orleans unsuccessful. His letters home, his excitement and
enthusiasm, how ridiculous they seemed, how fatuous his boastings before
the old ladies and little Bella!

Fairfax passed his boarding-house and walked on, and as he walked he
recalled what Cedersholm had said the day he engaged him: "Courage,
patience, humility." These words had cooled his anger as nothing else
could have done, and laid their salutary touch on his flushed face.

"These qualities are the attributes of genius. Mediocrity is incapable
of possessing them." He would have them _all_, every one, ev