h close behind him.

"_Nu_, Mr. Jassy," Max said, "you shouldn't be so broke up because you
couldn't write so good as Richard Strauss."

Jassy stood still and looked Max squarely in the eye.

"That's just the point," he said in hollow tones. "Might I could if I
tried; but I am such an _Epikouros_ that I don't want to try. I would
sooner make money out of rubbish than be an artist like Volkovisk."

Max shrugged and elevated his eyebrows.

"A man must got to live," he said as he seized Jassy's arm and began
gently to propel him back to the Cafe Roman.

"Sure, I know," Jassy said; "but living ain't all having good clothes to
wear and good food to eat. Living for an artist like Volkovisk is
composing music worthy of an artist. _Aber_ what do I do, Mister----"

"Merech," Max said.

"What do I do, Mr. Merech?" Jassy continued. "I am all the time throwing
away my art in the streets with this rotten stuff I am composing."

* * * * *

"Well, I tell you," Max said after they had reentered the cafe and had
seated themselves at a table remote from the piano, "composing music is
like manufacturing garments, Mr. Jassy. Some one must got to cater to
the popular-price trade and only a few manufacturers gets to the point
where they make up a highgrade line for the exclusive retailers. Ain't
it?"

Jassy nodded as the waiter brought the cups of coffee.

"Now you take me, for instance," Max continued. "Once I worked by B.
Gans, which I assure you, Mr. Jassy, it was a pleasure to handle the
goods in that place. What an elegant line of silks and embroidery they
got it there! Believe me, Mr. Jassy, every day I went to work there like
I would be going to a wedding already, such a beautiful goods they made
it! _Aber_ now I am working by a popular-price concern, Mr. Jassy,
which, you could take it from me, the colors them people puts together
in one garment gives me the indigestion already!"

Again Jassy nodded sympathetically.

"And why did I make a change?" Max went on. "Because them people pays
me seven dollars a week more as B. Gans, Mr. Jassy; and though art is
art, understand me, seven dollars a week ain't to be coughed at
neither."

For a few minutes Jassy sipped his coffee in silence.

"That's all right, too," he said; "but with garments you could make just
so much money manufacturing a highgrade line as you could if you are
making a popular-price line."

Max nodded sapiently.

"I give you ri