"The artist is of universal sympathy," said Wyndham gravely, and himself believed it. At that moment he felt his endless sympathy spreading itself out, embracing all creation. "And then it was not only the humanity of the scene that touched me, and inspired me to attempt to put it down finely and greatly; there was also the pure art part as it appealed to the trained vision--the splendid difficulties to be vanquished, the opportunities for draughtsmanship and subtle colour, the sense of far-stretching space to be produced from only a narrow gamut of light and shade." "Marvellous!" echoed Mr. Robinson again. "But if I may make the remark in my turn," said Wyndham, "your sympathy with labour surprises me equally." "Why so?" asked Mr. Robinson. "The natural antagonism between capital and labour!" smiled Wyndham. "Oh, I started as a poor boy--right at the foot of the ladder," explained Mr. Robinson. "My father was a carpenter. Wages were low in those days, and prices of all necessaries were high. I remember in my childhood we had a pretty hard time of it. In my own firm we share the profits with all the employees. So you see I'm rather partial to labour so long as it's decent and reasonable. When I think of my own struggles, I like to see every man get fair opportunities. When a man has no particular talent--such as myself, for instance--it is ever so much the harder to go through discouragements. But, at the worst of times, it must be a great thing for a gifted man like yourself to be conscious of his own powers." "So you set up to have no particular talent!" explained Wyndham. "You amuse me. Haven't you made your fortune unaided? I confess that that seems to me the most difficult thing in the world--immensely cleverer than anything in the way of art or painting." Mr. Robinson laughed. "Now you're making fun of me." "I was never more serious in my life," insisted Wyndham, now wheeling forward a smaller easel, in order to display the pictures he had at first selected. "I consider it frightfully clever to make money." "My dear sir, fools often make money," Mr. Robinson assured him. Wyndham shook his head incredulously. "Do you care much about this landscape?" he asked. "Very much indeed. It is so green and fresh and airy, and those are grand old trees." "It's our old home in Hertfordshire. I lost the property and a modest fortune through a rascally set of lawyers." Mr. Robinson's face expressed deep concern. "Yes, I remember the affair well," he said. "I remember reading it over the breakfast-table to my wife and daughter. We saw your name among the creditors. It was a bad business." "They had managed all our family concerns for thirty years."