had formed habits of careful industry. The majority of his young
acquaintances, who had been launched from homes like his own, were
known only as sons of their fathers, and degenerate sons at that.
Van Berg was already winning a place among men on the ground of
what he was and could do himself.

It were hard to say which was the stronger motive, his ambition or
the love of his art; but it seemed certain that between the two,
such talent as he had been endowed with would be developed quite
thoroughly. And he did possess decided talent, if not genius. But
his artistic gift accorded with his character, and was controlled
by judgement, correct taste, and intellectuality rather than by
strong and erratic impulses. His aims were definite and decided
rather than vague and diffusive; but his standards were so high
that, thus far, he had scarcely attempted more than studies that
were like the musician's scales by which he seeks to acquire a
skill in touch that shall enable him to render justly the works of
the great composers.

His family had praised his work unstintedly, and honestly thought
it wonderful; he had also been deluged with that kind of flattery
which relaxes the rules of criticism in favor of the wealthy. Thus
it was not strange that the young fellow, at one time, believed
that he was born to greatness by a kindly decree of fate. But as
his horizon widened he was taught better. His mind, fortunately,
grew faster than his vanity, and as he compared his crude but
promising work with that of mature genius, he was not stricken
with that most helpless phase of blindness--the inability to see
the superiority of others to one's self. Every day, therefore,
of study and observation was now chastening Harold Van Berg and