The days of the two following weeks were busy days for Aaron King. He
leased the place in the orange groves, and set men to work making it
habitable. The lawn and grounds were trimmed and put in order; the
interior of the house was renovated by painter and paper-hanger; and the
barn, under the artist's direction, was transformed into an ideal studio.
There was a trip to Los Angeles--quite fortunately upon a day when Mrs.
Taine must go to the city shopping--for rugs and hangings; and another
trip to purchase the tools of the artist's craft. And, at last, there was
a Chinese cook and housekeeper to find; with supplies for his kitchen. It
was at Conrad Lagrange's suggestion, that, from the first, every one was
given strict orders to keep out of the rose garden.

Every day, the novelist--accompanied, always, by Czar--walked out that way
to see how things were progressing; and often,--if he had not been too
busy to notice,--Aaron King might have seen a look of wistfulness in the
keen, baffling eyes of the famous man--so world-weary and sad. And, while
he did not cease to mock and jeer and offer sarcastic advice to his
younger friend, the touch of pathos--that, like a minor chord, was so
often heard in his most caustic and cruel speeches--was more pronounced.
As for Czar--he always returned to the hotel with evident reluctance; and
managed to express, in his dog way, the thoughts his distinguished master
would not put in words.

Very often, too, the big touring car from the house on Fairlands Heights
stopped in front of the cottage, while the occupants inspected the
premises, and--with many exclamations of flattering praise, and a few
suggestions--made manifest their interest.

In time, it was finished and ready--from the big easel by the great, north