“‘Yes, I vill paint you somethings.’ “‘I vant a sign—a white horse for my inn.’ “‘I vill paint the sign, but you better haf a red lion.’ “‘I don’t vant a red lion. “White Horse” is the name of my Inn.’ “‘Then you had better change the name of your inn, for if I paint you a white horse, it vill look like a red lion.’ “Now my frient he could paint nothings but red lions.” Which all goes to show that you cannot escape your personality, no matter how much you try. For years after would be heard coming from a group of painters: “When I got to my studio this morning, there was a red tail sticking out of the door and I was afraid to go in.” It was Robert Reid who started us making caricatures. When Elihu Vedder left us to go home, he drew a picture of a dodo with these verses underneath it: There was an old dodo of Rome Who said, “If I’d but stayed at home With my Omar Khayyam Such an artist I am, I’d have painted a hell of a Dome.” The result was that everyone started to imitate him, and we had over a hundred humorous drawings. I remember one of Proctor, the sculptor, sitting on a dead grizzly with the caption, “He shoots ’em, he eats ’em, he models ’em.” A wealthy man, whose name I shall not mention, offered to buy the whole collection. We told him they were not for sale, but that we would give them to him for the drinks and smokes, promptly bundling up the whole lot and sending them to him. But we reckoned without our donor’s Scotch blood, and the forty or fifty of us were presented with two bottles of rye whisky and one box of poor cigars! Not to be outdone, we set to work and made a far better set of drawings, giving them to Daniel Burnham. The millionaire felt greatly outraged. One visitor to Cockroach Ranch whom I remember very well was Eugene Field, the writer. I first met him in a Chicago club, and upon presentation he greeted me with these words: “You get out of this town; you are spoiling my game. Everywhere I go, I am taken for you.” He was slightly shorter than I, and bald-headed, so that I could not see the resemblance. But as I have been mistaken at various times for Sol Smith Russell, Forbes-Robertson, Maffit the clown, and William Gillette, nothing surprises me. I once told Gillette about some one taking me for him in London. He said: “That is not the worst of it. By God! I have been mistaken for _you_!” The truth is that I am a perfect Yankee type and might have posed for the original Uncle Sam. When Robert Reid was painting his decoration for the Boston State House, he had a portrait of each one of the judges to put in it, and I could have posed for any one of them.