realize that he hadn't much. He decided he could learn to shoot well at
fifty yards. He did. Then he went after elephants, and got 'em, in a day
when they shipped ivory not by the tusk, but by the ton, and sold it at
fifteen shillings a pound." As they walked back to the flat, Leighton
said: "Now, take your time and think. Is there anything you know how to
do well?"

"Nothing," stammered Lewis--"nothing except goats."

"Ah, yes, goats," said Leighton, but his thoughts were not on goats.
Back in his den, he took from a drawer in the great oak desk the kid
that Lewis had molded in clay and its broken legs, for another had gone.
He looked at the fragments thoughtfully. "To my mind," he said, "there
is little doubt but that you could become efficient at terra-cotta
designing; you might even become a sculptor."

"A sculptor!" repeated Lewis, as though he voiced a dream.

Leighton paid no attention to the interruption. "I hesitate, however, to
give you a start toward art because you carry an air of success with
you. One predicts success for you too--too confidently. And success in
art is a formidable source of danger."

"Success a source of danger, Dad?"

"In art," corrected Leighton.

"Yesterday," he continued, "you wanted to stop at a shop window, and I
wouldn't let you. The window contained an inane repetition display of
thirty horrible prints at two and six each of Lalan's 'Triumph.'"