My father in the meantime had spoken to his friend Mr. Edward Barry, R.A., with a view to my entering his office. This interview resulted in my calling upon Mr. Barry with specimens of my work, of which he approved and upon which he complimented me. At the same time he warned me that T-squares and compass, and not the paint brush, would be my daily implements for at least five years. This was too much for me, and I frankly told him it would be impossible, and that three years--until my coming of age--would be my limit. Barry then expressed his opinion that an artist's career was what I was fitted for, and not an architect's office, and although I quite agreed with him I went home with a heavy heart at the thought of my father's disappointment. On my return I sought my room, and, after locking the door, I sat down to consider the situation. Also, I found that--perhaps from the effect of my excitement--my nose was bleeding, and I endeavoured to staunch the flow of blood. Presently, before I had decided upon a tactful plan of action, my father knocked at the door, and when I opened it, rushed in, greatly excited to hear the result of the interview. A rousing scene followed, and although I respected his feelings and was sorry to go against his wishes, I instinctively clung to my decision to live my life as I chose and to follow my own career. The same evening my father consulted his friend, Mr. Frith, on the matter, and he kindly consented to act as mediator in this affair of my future career. After trying to dissuade me, and presenting an artist's life from its very blackest standpoint, and still finding me full of hope and enthusiasm, Mr. Frith at last said, "I don't mind telling you that, had you been my son, I should certainly have encouraged you in your desire to adopt an artist's profession." [Illustration: SIR ALFRED SCOTT-GATTY, C.V.O. (GARTER KING-AT-ARMS, 1905).] Finally my father was persuaded, and as there was nothing more to be said, we shook hands upon my determination. Thus we buried the long-cherished idea of my architectural career, of which I was heartily glad to hear the last. After the disagreement, Frith, to encourage me, commissioned me to "square out" one of his pictures from a small sketch--"The Procession of Our Lady of Boulogne." I received eighteen guineas when my task was completed, but in my excitement at receiving my first cheque, I threw it (in its envelope) accidentally in the fire. I was in despair when I discovered my blunder, and, in my ignorance of paper money, went to Frith and told him of the calamity. He chaffed me, and said, "You know, Leslie, I'm not compelled to give you another cheque ... but if you wish it I will." Whereupon he gave me my long-looked-for and fateful eighteen guineas.