To the eye of an experienced critic the picture would certainly have
seemed crude. It was a study of a dark-eyed child holding a large black
cat. Statisticians estimate that there is no moment during the day when
one or more young artists somewhere on the face of the globe are not
painting pictures of children holding cats.

'I call it "Child and Cat",' said the young man. 'Rather a neat title,
don't you think? Gives you the main idea of the thing right away.
That,' he explained, pointing obligingly with the stem of his pipe, 'is
the cat.'

Annette belonged to that large section of the public which likes or
dislikes a picture according to whether its subject happens to please
or displease them. Probably there was not one of the million or so
child-and-cat eyesores at present in existence which she would not have
liked. Besides, he had been very nice about her music.

'I think it's splendid,' she announced.

The young man's face displayed almost more surprise than joy.

'Do you really?' he said. 'Then I can die happy--that is, if you'll let
me come down and listen to those songs of yours first.'

'You would only knock on the floor,' objected Annette.

'I'll never knock on another floor as long as I live,' said the
ex-brute, reassuringly. 'I hate knocking on floors. I don't see
what people want to knock on floors _for_, anyway.'