observed that the reigning 'Goddess' in the realm of 'Modern Art' has her
eye upon you, already. As I shall very soon be commanded to drag you to
her 'Court,' it is well for you to be prepared."

The young man laughed as the other paused to puff vigorously at his brier
pipe.

"That red-faced, bull-necked brute, is James Rutlidge, the son and heir of
old Jim Rutlidge," continued the novelist. "Jim inherited a few odd
millions from _his_ father, and killed himself spending them in
unmentionable ways. The son is most worthily carrying out his father's
mission, with bright prospects of exceeding his distinguished parent's
fondest dreams. But, unfortunately, _he_ is hampered by lack of adequate
capital--the bulk of the family wealth having gone with the old man."

"Do you mean James Rutlidge--the great critic?" exclaimed Aaron King, with
increased interest.

"The same," answered the other, with his twisted smile. "I thought you
would recognize his name. As an artist, you will undoubtedly have much to
do with him. His friendship is one of the things that are vital to your
success. Believe me, his power in modern art is a red-faced, bull-necked
power that you will do well to recognize. Of his companions," he went on,
"the horrible example is Edward J. Taine--friend and fellow martyr of
James Rutlidge, Senior. Satan, perhaps, can explain how he has managed to
outlive his partner. His home is in New York, but he has a big house on
Fairlands Heights, with large orange groves in this district. He comes
here winters for his health. He'll die before long. The effervescing young
creature is his daughter, Louise--by his first wife. The 'Goddess'--who is
not much older than his daughter--is the present Mrs. Taine."