know--"




III

The party has adjourned to Stovall's dog-kennel-sized apartment on
West Eleventh Street with oranges and ice, Peter Piper having suddenly
remembered a little place he knows where what gin is to be bought is
neither diluted Croton water nor hell-fire. The long drinks gather
pleasantly on the table, are consumed by all but Johnny, gather again. The
talk grows more fluid, franker.

"Phil Sellaby?---oh, the great Phil's just had a child--I mean his wife
has, but Phil's been having a book all winter and it's hard not to get 'em
mixed up. Know the girl he married?"

"Ran Waldo had a necking acquaintance with her at one time or another, I
believe. But now she's turned serious, I hear--_tres serieuse--tres bonne
femme_--"

"I bet his book'll be a cuckoo, then. Trouble with women. Can't do any
art and be married if you're in love with your wife. Instink--instinct of
creation--same thing in both cases--use it one way, not enough left
for other--unless, of course, like Goethe, you--" "Rats! Look at
Rossetti--Browning---Augustus John--William Morris--"

_"Browning!_ Dear man, when the public knows the _truth_ about the
Brownings!"