o-morrow."

"Why the day after to-morrow?"

"The Burgomaster, Mynheer van der Meer, comes to visit my studio. He
liked the beginnings of the picture very much when he saw it, and told
me then that he would come to look at it again and would probably buy
it."

"I can be back here in less than a week. You can finish the picture
then. The Burgomaster will wait."

The artist sighed a plaintive, uncomplaining little sigh and shrugged
his shoulders with an air of hopelessness.

"You don't know what these people are," he said, "they will buy a
picture when the fancy seizes them. A week later they will mayhap not
even look at it. Besides which the Burgomaster goes to Amsterdam next
week. He will visit Rembrandt's studio, and probably buy a picture
there...."

His speech meandered on, dully and tonelessly, losing itself finally in
incoherent mutterings. Diogenes looked on him with good-natured
contempt.

"And you would lick the boots of such rabble," he said.

"I have a wife and a growing family," rejoined the artist, "we must all
live."

"I don't see the necessity," quoth Diogenes lightly, "not at that price
in any case. You must live of course, my dear Hals," he continued,
"because you are a genius and help to fill this ugly grey world with
your magnificent works, but why should your wife and family live at the
expense of your manhood."

Then seeing the look of horror which his tirade had called forth in the
face of his friend, he said with more seriousness:

"Would the price of that picture be of such vital importance then?"

"It is not the money so much," rejoined Frans Hals, "though God knows
that that too would be acceptable, but 'tis the glory of it to which I
had aspired. This picture to hang in the Stanhuis, mayhap in the
reception hall, has been my dream these weeks past; not only would all
the wealthy burghers of Haarlem see it there, but all the civic
dignitaries of other cities when they come here on a visit, aye! and the
foreign ambassadors too, who often come to Haarlem. My fame then would
indeed ring throughout Europe.... It is very hard that you should
disappoint me so."

While he went on mumbling in his feeble querulous voice, Diogenes had
been pacing up and down the floor apparently struggling with insistent
thoughts. There was quite a suspicion of a frown upon his smooth brow,
but he said nothing until his friend had finished speaking. Then he
ceased his restless pacing and placed a hand upo