Again, the other laughed shortly. Watching him closely, Conrad Lagrange
said, in his most sneering tones, "I trust, young man, that you are not
failing to make good use of your opportunities. Let's see--dinner and the
evening five times--afternoon calls as many--with motor trips to points of
interest--and one theater party to Los Angeles--believe me; it is not
often that struggling genius is so rewarded--before it has accomplished
anything bad enough to merit such attention."

"I _have_ been idling most shamefully, haven't I?" said the artist.

"Idling!" rasped the other. "You have been the busiest hay-maker in the
land. These scientific, intensive cultivation farmers of California are
not in your class when it comes to utilizing the sunshine. Take my advice
and continue your present activity without bothering yourself by any
sentimental thoughts of your palette and brushes. The mere vulgar tools of
your craft are of minor importance to one of your genius and opportunity."

Then, in a half embarrassed manner, Aaron King made his announcement.
"That may all be," he said, "but just the same, I am going to work."

"I knew it"--returned the other, in mocking triumph--"I knew it the moment
you came up the steps there. I could tell it by your walk; by the air with
which you carried yourself; by your manner, your voice, your laugh--you
fairly reek of prosperity and achievement--you are going to paint her
portrait."

"And why not?" retorted the young man, rather sharply, a trifle nettled by
the other's tone.