reak of white at times. There was emotion in them,
a sense of life. He should have been appreciated at once, but, oddly,
there was just enough of the radically strange about what he did to make
his work seem crude, almost coarse. He drew a man's coat with a single
dash of his pen. He indicated a face by a spot. If you looked close
there was seldom any detail, frequently none at all. From the praise he
had received at the art school and from Mathews and Goldfarb he was
slowly coming to the conclusion that he had a way of his own. Being so
individual he was inclined to stick to it. He walked with an air of
conviction which had nothing but his own belief in himself to back it
up, and it was not an air which drew anybody to him. When he showed his
pictures at the _Century_, _Harper's_, _Scribner's_, they were received
with an air of weary consideration. Dozens of magnificent drawings were
displayed on their walls signed by men whom Eugene now knew to be
leaders in the illustration world. He returned to his room convinced
that he had made no impression at all. They must be familiar with
artists a hundred times better than himself.

As a matter of fact Eugene was simply overawed by the material face of
things. These men whose pictures he saw displayed on the walls of the
art and editorial rooms of the magazines were really not, in many
instances, any better than himself, if as good. They had the advantage
of solid wood frames and artistic acceptance. He was a long way as yet
from magazine distinction but the work he did later had no more of the
fire than had this early stuff. It was a little broader in treatment, a
little less intolerant of detail, but no more vigorous if as much so.
The various art directors were weary of smart young artists showing
drawings. A little suffering was good for them in the beginning. So
Eugene was incontinently turned away with a little faint praise which
was worse than opposition. He sank very low in spirits.

There were still the smaller magazines and the newspapers, however, and
he hunted about faithfully, trying to get something to do. From one or
two of the smaller magazines, he secured commissions, after a time,
three or four drawings for thirty-five dollars; and from that had to be
extracted models' fees. He had to have a room where he could work as an
artist, receiving models to pose, and he finally found one in West 14th
Street, a back bedroom, looking out over an open court and with a