rm of the child, her dress, even her strapped shoes were only
indicated, nevertheless it was a perfect bit of realism, though crude.
But the head, the attitude, the cheek and the face, the little caressing
enfolding hands, were Greek in their perfect execution.

A flush rose on the young man's face, his eyes brightened, he gave a
soft touch here and there with the little instrument, but he had done
all he could to this creation. It was only in perishable clay, it must
crumble and dry; how could he perpetuate it? He thought of having it
cast in terra-cotta, but how and where? The figure vacillated in the
gaslight, and taunted him with its perishability, its evanescence,
frail, transient as childhood is transient. "Bella," he mused before it,
"little cousin." His right hand had not quite lost its cunning, then?
He could construct and direct a locomotive, but he had not lost all his
skill. For what the statue proved to him, for its evidence of his living
art and his talent, he loved it, he turned it and viewed it on all
sides, whistling softly under his breath, not morbid about his tunes
now.

Tito High-Falutini pushed the door open. "Goin' home, Tony, la Signora
Kenni has turned me out."

Fairfax pointed to his statue. "Look. If we were in Carrara somebody
would lend me a quarry or I would steal one, and turn little Bella into
a snow image." He spoke in English, entirely uncomprehended by his
companion. He put his hand on Tito's arm.

"Did you do that, Tony? It is valuable. In Italy we make terra-cotta
figures like that and sell them."

"Do you think, Tito," his companion replied, "that I would sell little
Bella for a few lire, you commercial traveller?"

Tito was acquainted with the Italian quarter, he would find some one who
baked in terra-cotta. They had brought their trades with them. Tony
could do others: a Savoyard with a hand-organ, those things were very
gentile, very brave indeed, and money, said Tito, gloating, money,--why
that would cost a dollar at least.

Fairfax covered up the clay and pushed the stool back in its corner.

"You can make a fool of yourself, too," he said good-humouredly, and
pushed Falutini out. "Go home and dream of Kenny's daughter Cora, and
don't forget to buy a can of crude oil and order a half dozen of those
cock-screws. Good-night." He banged the door.

He undressed, still softly whistling, unpinned the curtain from the
window, and what there was of heat and freshness came int