cleverly--"

"I'm not going to play any part."

"Then it's all up. How is a patroness of Art going to patronize you,
unless you're a poor and struggling young artist, living from hand to
mouth by arduous pot-boiling? You won't have to play a part as far as
the pot-boiling goes," added his monitress viciously. "Only, don't let
her know that the rewards of your shame run to high-powered cars and
high-class apartments. Remember, you're poor but honest. Perhaps she'll
give you money."

"Perhaps she won't," retorted the youth explosively.

"Oh, it will be done tactfully; never fear. I'll bring her around to see
you and you'll have to work the sittings yourself."

As a setting for the abode of a struggling beginner, Julien's attic
needed no change. It was a whim of his to keep it bare and simple. He
worked out his pictorial schemes of elegance best in an environment
where there was nothing to distract the eye. One could see that Miss
Roberta Holland, upon her initial visit, approved its stark and cleanly
poverty. (Yes, I was there to see; the Bonnie Lassie had taken me along
to make up that first party.) Having done the honors, Julien dropped
into the background, and presently was curled up over a drawing-board,
sketching eagerly while the Bonnie Lassie and I held the doer of good
deeds in talk. Now the shrewd and able tribe of advertising managers do
not pay to any but a master-draughtsman the prices which "J.T."--with
an arrow transfixing the initials--gets; and Julien was as deft and
rapid as he was skillful. Soon appreciating what was in progress, the