inting full of the wonder and bustle of a night crowd under
sputtering electric lamps. He saw that Eugene had covered almost
every phase of what might be called the dramatic spectacle in the
public life of the city and much that did not appear dramatic until
he touched it--the empty canyon of Broadway at three o'clock in the
morning; a long line of giant milk wagons, swinging curious lanterns,
coming up from the docks at four o'clock in the morning; a plunging
parade of fire vehicles, the engines steaming smoke, the people running
or staring open-mouthed; a crowd of polite society figures emerging
from the opera; the bread line; an Italian boy throwing pigeons in
the air from a basket on his arm in a crowded lower West-side
street. Everything he touched seemed to have romance and beauty, and yet
it was real and mostly grim and shabby.

"I congratulate you, Mr. Witla," finally exclaimed M. Charles, moved by
the ability of the man and feeling that caution was no longer necessary.
"To me this is wonderful material, much more effective than the
reproductions show, dramatic and true. I question whether you will make
any money out of it. There is very little sale for American art in this
country. It might almost do better in Europe. It _ought_ to sell, but
that is another matter. The best things do not always sell readily. It
takes time. Still I will do what I can. I will give these pictures a two
weeks' display early in April without any charge to you whatever."
(Eugene started.) "I will call them to the attention of those who know.
I will speak to those who buy. It is an honor, I assure you, to do this.
I consider you an artist in every sense of the word--I might say a great
artist. You ought, if you preserve yourself sanely and with caution, to
go far, very far. I shall be glad to send for these when the time
comes."

Eugene did not know how to reply to this. He did not quite understand
the European seriousness of method, its appreciation of genius, which
was thus so easily and sincerely expressed in a formal way. M. Charles
meant every word he said. This was one of those rare and gratifying
moments of his life when he was permitted to extend to waiting and
unrecognized genius the assurance of the consideration and approval of
the world. He stood there waiting to hear what Eugene would say, but the
latter only flushed under his pale skin.

"I'm very glad," he said at last, in his rather commonplace, off-hand,
American w