with an unfavourable eye.

"Yes," she said, "the drawing is decidedly weak."

"I shouldn't wonder," assented Kirk. "The dealers to whom I've tried to
sell it have not said that in so many words, but they've all begged me
with tears in their eyes to take the darned thing away, so I guess
you're right."

"Do you depend for a living on the sale of your pictures?"

"Thank Heaven, no. I'm the only artist in captivity with a private
income."

"A large income?"

"'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis
enough, 'twill serve. All told, about five thousand iron men per
annum."

"Iron men?"

"Bones."

"Bones?"

"I should have said dollars."

"You should. I detest slang."