paper--red for eyes and tongue, and blue and green for scales. The
farmers upstate would love that. They like good but poisonous snakes."
Then he grinned, stood back and, cocking his head to one side in a most
examining and yet approving manner, ran his hand through his hair and
beard and added, "A snake can't be too vital, you know, for this paper.
We have to draw 'em strong, plenty of vitality, plenty of go." He
grinned most engagingly.

I could not help laughing, of course. The impertinent air! The grand,
almost condescending manner!

We soon became fast friends.

In the same office in close contact with him was another person, one
D---- W----, also a newspaper artist, who, while being exceedingly
interesting and special in himself, still as a character never seems to
have served any greater purpose in my own mind than to have illustrated
how emphatic and important Peter was. He had a thin, pale, Dantesque
face, coal black, almost Indian-like hair most carefully parted in the
middle and oiled and slicked down at the sides and back until it looked
as though it had been glued. His eyes were small and black and querulous
but not mean--petted eyes they were--and the mouth had little lines at
each corner which seemed to say he had endured much, much pain, which of
course he had not, but which nevertheless seemed to ask for, and I
suppose earned him some, sympathy. Dick in his way was an actor, a
tragedian of sorts, but with an element of humor, cynicism and insight
which saved him from being utterly ridiculous. Like most actors, he was
a great poseur. He invariably affected the long, loose flowing tie with
a soft white or blue or green or brown linen shirt (would any American
imitation of the "Quartier Latin" denizen have been without one at that