The Irishman paused and looked at him. "Thanks be damned!--and stranger
be damned!" he said with sudden vehemence. "Aren't we citizens of a free
world? Must I know a man for years before I can call him my friend? And
must every one I've known since childhood be my friend? I tell you I saw
you and I liked you--that was all, and 'twas enough."

Max looked at him with a certain grave simplicity. "Forgive me!" he
said.

Instantly the other's annoyance was dispelled. "Forgive! Nonsense! Tell
me your plans, that's all I want."

"My plans are very easy to explain. I shall rent a studio here in
Paris--and there I shall work."

"As a student?"

"No, I have had my years of study; I am older than you think." He took
no notice of the other's raised eyebrows. "I want to paint a picture--a
great picture. I am seeking the idea."

"Good! Good! Then we'll make that our basis--the search for the idea.
The search for the great idea!"

Max thrilled. 'The search for the idea! How splendid! Where must it
begin? Not in fashionable Paris! Oh, not in fashionable Paris!'

"Fashionable Paris!" The Irishman laughed in loud disdain. "Oh no! For
us it must be the highways and the byways, eh?"