, he said: "Here's some
cake."

Tim thrust forward his hands, palms erect. "Oh, now, Mr. Pennoyer, I
couldn't. You--"

"Go ahead. What's the odds?"

"Oh, now."

"Go ahead, you old bat."

Penny smoked.

When Tim was going out, he turned to grow eloquent again. "Well, I can't
tell you how much I'm obliged to you, Mr. Pennoyer. You--"

"Don't mention it, old man."

Penny smoked.

THE SILVER PAGEANT.

"It's rotten," said Grief.

"Oh, it's fair, old man. Still, I would not call it a great contribution
to American art," said Wrinkles.

"You've got a good thing, Gaunt, if you go at it right," said little
Pennoyer.

These were all volunteer orations. The boys had come in one by one and
spoken their opinions. Gaunt listened to them no more than if they had
been so many match-peddlers. He never heard anything close at hand, and
he never saw anything excepting that which transpired across a mystic
wide sea. The shadow of his thoughts was in his eyes, a little grey
mist, and, when what you said to him had passed out of your mind, he
asked: "Wha--a--at?" It was understood that Gaunt was very good to
tolerate the presence of the universe, which was noisy and interested in
itself. All the younger men, moved by an instinct of faith, declared
that he would one day be a great artist if he would only move faster
than a pyramid. In the meantime he did not hear their voices.
Occasionally when he saw a man take vivid pleasure in life, he faintly
evinced an admiration. It seemed to strike him as a feat. As for him, he
was watching that silver pageant across a sea.

When he came from Paris to New York somebody told him that he must make
his living. He went to see some book publishers, and talked to them in
his manner--as if he had just been stunned. At last one of them gave him
drawings to do, and it did not surprise him. It was merely as if rain
had come down.

Great Grief went to see him in his studio, and returned to the den to
say: "Gaunt is working in his sleep. Somebody ought to set fire to him."

It was then that the others went over and smoked, and gave their
opinions of a drawing. Wrinkles said: "Are you really looking at it,
Gaunt? I don't think you've seen it yet, Gaunt?"

"What?"

"Why don't you look at it?"

When Wrinkles departed, the model, who was resting at that time,
followed him into the hall and waved his arms in rage. "That feller's
crazy. Yeh ought t' see--" and he recited lists of all